#the lighter red accent was a mistake for sure
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I wanted to experiment with some ✨sparkly✨ floss I have that's kind of a nightmare to work with but I accidentally....... meat cat
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Getting Clean
I need to be put into jail, stupid Scottish bitch.
Anyway this is probably lowkey just gonna be smut completely lmao.
I promise the soap pun titles will end.
Also so sorry this took so long because my mind is an enigma and writing for either the COD fandom or the RDR2 fandom has been deleted out of my mind.
Lets go lmao
WARNINGS!: female reader because im a woman and soap makes me yell real loud (nothing against him being shipped with male readers or 141, good for him what a king), NSFW, fuckin, im so bad at warnings just know its gonna be fuckin happenin, choking?? Voice kink???? Breeding kink for SURE. Just major NSFW basically porn with negative plot. Like... .5 plot.
Scottish slang/words may be inccorect due to using google, so please lemme know if its wrong, I'll happily fix it.
I am so sorry for spelling mistakes i finished this at like 2am
The mess hall seemed way too empty, everyone was out on missions, covert, recon, whatever, and while there was a shit ton of others there on base, without most of the 141 team it just felt....wrong.
You sigh and look at your food. It's not that it's bad food. In fact, it looks delicious, but sitting alone, at this massive table that usually you shared with Ghost, Gaz, Rudy and Alejandro, as well as Soap, just made you feel...down.
They were easily the people you were closest too on base. Working so closely with them it was only a matter of time before it happened. All of you were close friends, it was rare for any of you to stray from the group and talk to anyone else.
So today, sitting in the mess hall, was no different.
You stare at the food a little longer, and poke it around with your fork, that strange foreign feeling in your chest.
"Aye Lass, lookin' at it like tha' cannaé change how it tastes."
You smile and twist your head to look at Soap as he nears the table, a tray of food of his own in his hands.
"Johnny! I didn't know you were here!" You smile wider as he takes a seat next to you, and chuckle as he takes a bite of food from his tray.
"Ah, I jus' got back from a mission not too long ago, Price is givin' me a wei break."
You nod and smile at him, your heart seems a little lighter now, someone who you're far closer to now with you.
Plus it was Johnny, how could you not be happy around him? He was the obnoxious fun loving one of the group, he could be serious yes, but it was rare. Most days he joked, laughed, spat out witty sarcastic comments at everyone who passed.
You supposed that was part of the reason you'd grown to have such deep feelings for him in the first place.
Of course you'd never tell him that, you were far too nervous to do that.
Handsome, sweet, a deep voice, which had a Scottish accent on top of it? You could listen to him speak about nonsense for the entire day.
Sometimes missions with him were absolute hell.
He did his job, he was a good Sargent, he knew what he was doing, trained properly, getting things done the way they needed to, but his commentary....
That damn voice of his, he didn't even need to be next to you, all he needed was that voice and his stupid little sarcastic quips.
Hell, sometimes it wasn't even in comms.
He'd yell out something simple, that shouldn't have been attractive, yet it was.
Something as simple as "Changing mags!" Could make your face heat up and turn a violent red, hell, he basically growled at the end of the sentence whenever he said it. Being near him was almost like having a bomb strapped to your chest. Threatening to go off at any second.
Everytime he said "Steamin' Jesus" you couldn't help but imagine him using it in a far more intimate senario, with a slight change of tone, and that never failed to send a flood of warmth between your legs.
You swore that he knew what he was doing too, like he could sense the tension between the two of you, or see the red on your face, but if he did he never brought it up, and for that you were thankful.
Trying to explain fraternization to Price would not be a fun experience. Not only that but bringing it up would probably make you flustered beyond speaking ablity.
"Hey, Y/N. I been talkin' yer fuckin' ear off, you still listenin'?"
You shake your head and look at him, your face feels hot and you're sure you're crimson.
"Ye alright Lass?"
That stupid nickname makes the blush worsen and you simply clear your throat.
"I'm fine Soap. Thinking."
"You can call me Johnny off duty." He laughs. "You usually do....ya nervous about something? Just a wei bit?"
His voice carries a bit of teasing tone and you can't help but feel a bit if irritation at the smug bastard.
"Not nervous, no."
"Ah, not nervous, yet red in the face....Aye...I got yer number bonnie."
He snorts and then continues to eat.
"Really?" You cross your arms and look at him. "Do you now MacTavish?"
"Pretty obvious if you ask me." He shrugs.
"Okay, so tell me then."
Your face burns at the sudden burst of confidence, and as a smirk crosses over Johnny's face you suddenly feel very foolish about what you've just said.
"Lass...tha's not very appropriate for me to say here, where anyone could hear....now is it?"
That smirk stays on his face as he lowers his voice to a low whisper as he gets the last few words out.
You swallow, and your face burns deeper.
"I don't know what you mean Johnny."
"I'm sure." He offers you a laugh and then stands, the look in his eyes makes your body shiver. "I think I'll head to my room...feel free to...visit, if you'd like."
You watch as he walks off as though nothing had happened and your entire body seems to shiver.
He sticks his hands in his jean pockets as he walks away, which you obviously noticed, because of course you did, with an ass like his.
What the hell are you gonna do? Follow him? How the hell did he figure you out so quickly? Did he mean what he said?
Little did you know Johnny was thinking similarly.
"What the hell were you thinkin'? Saying somethin' like that? Y/N does NOT feel that way about you, you probably just fucked somethin' up, fuckin' idiot."
It takes you only a matter of minutes before you stand from the table and head after Johnny, towards his room in the base.
Your heart is thumping so loudly its the only thing you can hear.
Your body seems to be reacting on its own though, your thoughts, while dirty and definetly in need of some....cleaning....ironically, are wondering what'll happen to your friendship afterwards, but your body doesn't seem to care.
Your mind races with the thought of what would happen if you were caught too, it wasn't exactly professional to fuck your coworker in the military.
When you reach his door you breathe deeply, hesitant as you raise your hand to the door. You stopped for a moment and then, you knock on the door.
Johnny opens the door nearly instantly, only a matter of seconds pass before the door knob clicks and he stands in the doorway before you, leaning against the doorframe as he looks down at you.
"Tha' was quick Lass."
"Shut up, let me in."
"Aw...c'mon now...be nice..." He lowers his voice, whispering the last two words, a smug smirk coming over his mouth.
You feel a rush of heat through your chest and look to your feet, your entire face seems to burn, your ears even feel as though they're burning.
"Please Johnny?"
You feel his hand come under your chin and he lifts your head to look him in the eye, not gently but not rough either.
"Try again Lass, look me in the eye."
Fuck fuck fuck fuck
"Please let me in, you stupid Scottish fuck."
"Tha's not very nice...thought I said be nice..."
You clench your jaw and stare at him, that smug grin on his face somehow managing to irritate you and make you horny all at the same time.
"Please Johnny? Let me in?"
"Ye really do want me, don't ye? Dinnaé know you felt so strongly towards me.." He smirks at you and the moves aside, dropping his hand from your chin to let you in.
You look around his room, staring at all the posters and things he has lined up on the walls. Considering this was Johnny's room....you expected it to be far dirtier, less organized, yet as you looked around at the rest of his room you noticed everything had a place, everything was neat, he didn't even have dirty clothes on the floor.
Neat and organized....despite his very chaotic and uncooridinated nature.
You're busy looking this over, viewing his room when he comes up behind you.
He leans in close.
"So, you were havin' thoughts then?" He smirks, you can feel it without even looking at him. "You? Havin' thoughts...innocent little Y/N always focused on the job Y/N....havin' thoughts like those....and about me..."
His voice lowers, it's nearly a growl, and a hand wraps around your waist, his fingers slide gently under the bottom of your shirt, touching the bare skin of your stomach, only just barely.
"Naughty...naughty..."
You look down, your face is completely red, scarlet, and it burns hotter than you thought possible.
By looking down you didn't really account for the fact that, that would only leave your neck open, and it takes all your will power you have not to make a sound when you feel Johnny's lips agains the skin there.
"I'm suprised it took you this long to notice Johnny." You breathe out, hoping your voice wouldn't give out on you.
He stops, his lips still gently placed against your skin as he speaks.
"Really now....been very noticable has it Hen?"
The nickname sends a shiver though your spine, though you know the word itself isn't the issue.
"I think so..." You breathe. "Can't you tell when my voice changes over comms sometimes?"
"Ye get that flustered...over comms? Ye don't even see me.."
He chuckles and presses another kiss to your neck, you're sure the next one he offers will be brusing.
"Not my fault..." You mumble. You've almost collapsed against him, leaning your body weight onto him, though he doesn't mind in the slightest.
"Really now...now...can ye explain to me what it is on comms that makes things so hard to focus then Hen?"
"Why must you make things difficult?"
"Difficult?"
He laughs at you and then stands up straight, his hand leaving the skin of your stomach.
He moves to his bed and takes a seat, nearly plopping down, he sits with his legs open and slaps both hands on his thighs, leaning forwards.
"It isn't difficult, it's a really easy question now Lass."
You cross your arms and look at him, watching as he leans back a little a simple smirk on his face.
"If ye really want somethin' tonight Y/N, yer gonnae have to tell me."
That smug look doesn't leave his face, rather it seems like it only gets worse as he utters out your name, emphasising it, lowering his voice as he does. To add to this you watch as his hands leave his thighs, palms upwards in a sort of shrug gesture.
He knows what gets you flustered over comms. He knows, you know he knows, but you also know he's gonna make you say it.
"You damn well know what it is Johnny."
"Oh I do, but it'll be much better when it comes out of yer mouth, preferrably with your face all red."
You swallow and look to the floor, keeping your arms crossed as you speak.
"I swear sometimes you do it on purpose. You do those damn jokes, say those fucking statements and you always lower your voice, especially if you know I'm listening. I told you how I liked your accent ONCE and now you use it everytime you can."
"Aye, I do." Again, as before, you can hear that smirk on his face. "I'll admit it. I take every chance I can."
You scrunch up your nose, refusing to look up at him.
Theres silence for a moment and then you hear him shuffle, only then do you look up.
He simply catches your gaze and makes a motion towards himself with his two middle fingers, pretty much beckoning you towards him.
Despite the stubborness you've shown earlier you can't help but follow his silent command.
As you reach him and stand inbetween his legs his hands creep over your thighs, fingers curling around the back of them, squeezing the meat of them, tightly, firmly. Just the right amount of pressure.
He looks up at you, his face a little more serious now, the smirk from earlier still lingers, but it's far less noticable.
"Ye know Y/N, I've thought about having you in here....a lot."
"Really?" You stop a moment, your body tingling, stemming from his fingertips outwards. Your mind seems a little fogged. "I thought....I thought maybe you'd invited me in here today just to...well honestly I thought you were just fucking with me Johnny, but...I couldn't just ignore it."
"Nae, no fuckin'with you, no this time."
"So...does...um...does that mean..." You swallow, struggling with your words. "Look....Johnny I think it's obvious I've liked you for a while now...are...if we're really gonna do this...I...what does it mean? Anything? Just...are we fuck buddies, or something more because...."
Your words trail off, you can't help but cross your arms, a sudden burst of what you can only assume is nearly shame creeps up through you.
Johhny's face changes, subtly, but you catch it, and you don't miss the squeeze he gives your thighs either.
"Hen, once I get a taste of you I don't think I could have anyone else."
He's quick with his movements as he slides his hands up towards your ass, and pushes you slightly closer to himself.
The action he does next is a simple one, yet it sends all kinds of feelings through you.
His tongue touches the skin of your stomach, his hand gently pushing your shirt up out of the way. He licks a stripe upwards, keeping eye contact with you as he does.
"Jesus Johnny...."
He offers a chuckle and grips your hip with his free hand just a little tighter.
"I'm gonna ask this once Bonníe," he looks at you, only a small trace of a smile on his lips. "Are ye sure ye wanna do this? I'll stop if ye say stop, but after this I won't ask again."
Your thoughts swirl in your head for a moment. Wondering if it is what you wanted. If it was worth chancing your friendship, chancing your job, getting caught fraternizing is no small penalty.
In the end your body decides for you.
You nod.
"I do."
That smile of his fits on his face slowly, showing off those pearly whites. His surprisingly sharp canines.
His tongue comes out once more, again licking up your stomach, this time he stands as he moves himself upwards, only bringing his mouth away when he reaches the area just below your breasts, letting your shirt fall back to its original place.
When he finally stands his mouth goes into good use, his lips meeting yours with a feverancy, practically a need. He fists your hair, and darts his tongue into your mouth without any hesitance.
His free hand snakes around your body, finding purchase on the plump of your asscheek.
You let out a moan against his lips which in turn pulls one from him.
Your hands wrap around the back of his neck, grabbing onto any part of him you can.
His hand nestled within your hair offers a tug, pulling your head back, taking your lips from his and exposing your neck to him.
His lips latch onto your throat, open mouthed hot kisses against your skin, making your body shiver, tingle. His tongue licks along your skin, warm, and again...hungry.
"Johnny..." You whine out his name, and your body flames up, a part of you is curious as to how he'd gotten you so needy so quickly.
The other part did not give a shit.
"So pretty when you whine like that Bonníe..."
He smiles against your skin, moving towards your jaw, still dragging his lips along your neck, refusing to leave it.
"Maybe we should see if I can get any more out of ye..."
"Johnny...we have to be careful..." You mumble. "We...we can't be caught-"
"Yer right Lass...that might even be more fun..."
He pulls back to look at you, his eyes seemed to darken with the idea that begins to plauge his mind.
"Let's see if ye can keep from screamin' huh?"
"Johnny-"
He cuts you off as his hand come up around your throat, offering a gentle squeeze to the sides as he begins to push you down to the bed.
"Do yer best for me Love." He gives you that goddamn smirk again. "Stay quiet...Can ye do that?"
You nod, your breathing becoming heavier as he stares down at you, hand still wrapped around your throat.
"Atta girl."
He coos out the words and everything in your body seems to be completely englufed in flame.
"You this charming to every girl you fuck Johnny?"
You breathe out the words, hands moving to his chest as you settle against the mattress.
"Jus' you Lass."
Rough hands slide under your shirt, over your stomach, bringing the shirt along with him.
His thumb glides up the center of your torso, pushing down slightly as he continues his movement, his other hand only leaves your throat when he needs to remove the shirt fully.
Your bra is taken off with seemingly expert practice, your breasts exposed to the air, but quickly they're found by hands and mouth.
A rough palm on one and a wet mouth sucking and licking the other.
It takes all your power not to moan, your back arching up into the feeling.
You hadn't been aware of just how touch starved you'd been.
One of your hands tangles into his mohawk, attempting to hold onto something of him.
He looks up at you, pulling away from your breasts.
"Nae, I dinnae say ye could touch lass."
"Johnny-"
"Shut tha' pretty mouth lass...see if ye can be quiet yeah?"
You nod, swallowing as he reaches for your pants. His fingers hooking under the waistband as he unbuttons them with the other.
With one swift movement he's pulled both your jeans and panties down, leaving you bare to him.
"Would ye look at tha'...such a bonnie sigh', Love..."
He smirks and moves in, hands finding your inner thighs, bringing a sigh from your lips.
Before you can say much else you feel a swipe of his tongue over your heat, already you were slick, this was certain to make the problem worse.
His grip on your inner thighs gets a little tighter as he continues with you, he moves his tongue with expertise, eating you out as though he's a man starved.
"Johnny..."
You can't help but let his name slip out, grabbing the sheets beneath you, squirming your hips against his face.
He looks up at you from his position, and even in his eyes you can see the smirk he'd wear.
It's far too soon that he pulls away, you'd been so close to your climax, so close to having that release, until he'd denied you that.
Again you whine his name, and he moves, climbing over you, grabbing your face with one hand, firmly holding your cheeks.
"Aw lass...wei bonnie...are ye feelin' a wei bit needy?"
You nod, the best you can in his grip, moving your hips against his clothed arousal, hoping for even a little bit of friction.
You give a nother small whine, this one more of a sound than that of a noise, again reaching for him, only for his other hand to pin your wrists above you.
"Ah...I told ye, nae touchin' lass"
You simply look at him, unable to do much in your senario. It's then that he kisses you, deeply, his tongue gliding against yours, the taste of your own slick in your mouth.
He lets go of your face, only to rushedly un button his pants, his problem suddenly a bit more annoying than it had been.
The moment he's free, his pants and boxers disgarded he simply looks down at you, seemingly thinking.
Its then that he grabs you by the hips and easily, effortlessly, flips you onto your stomach, running his pointer finger and thumb down your spine for a moment.
"Ye look so good from this angle love..."
He leans over you, his chest to your back, head angled right next to your ear.
He lowers that damn voice of his again.
"Can ye be a good lass fer me and arch jus' a wei bit... chest down love, ass up."
Of course you do as he asks, or rather tells, like its instinct, pressing your chest further into the bed, raising your rear higher into the air.
He leans back, taking a look at the sight in front of him, his hands going to the flesh of your ass like magnets, squeezing gently, your ass and hips, as though he can't decide which he likes better.
"Look at ye...such an obediant little lass...ye like doin' what yer told do ye? Is tha' why ye like rankin' under me? Enjoy the way I order ye around on the field? Makes ye think..."
You don't answer, focused on the feel of his hands, its only when he moves one of those hands to the back of your neck.
"I need an answer lass."
"Yes, yes I do Sir."
You can nearly feel the smirk on his face, he squeezes the back of your neck a little tighter.
"Sir?"
"Yes sir."
"Oho...I like tha' lass..."
He grabs both of your asscheeks again for a moment before you feel one leave only to feel him push into you.
You let out a groan as he pushes in, as much as you can take, to the base, you feel incredibly full. He's girthy.
"Fuck Johnny..."
You murmer.
"Nae...yer gonna call me sir from now on Love..."
You swallow, waiting for him to move.
"Do ye understand me?"
"Yes Sir."
"Good lass."
He gices you this praise and gently he moves his hips, his hand pushing your spine back into that arch you'd subtly moved away from.
His hips move slow, almost painfully so, and he knows this, teasing you with his hands gliding over your back.
"Ye look so good lass...all this jus' fer me..."
"Johnny please...."
"Aw lass...what did I jus' say?"
"Please...sir?"
"Tha's better....use yer words bonnie...what is it ye want?"
"Faster sir, please?"
You hear the small beg in your voice, sure that by the end of all this you'd be begging a lot more.
"Tha's a girl."
His hand moves to your hip, gripping hard as the other moves to your hair, grasping the roots of it, giving a tug as he moves his hips a little faster, filling you with his size, over and over again.
It's only a minute or so before he seems to loose that idea of torturing you, his pace picking up, hips snapping against yours, that slap of skin on skin, the squelch of your arousal ringing in your ears.
"Fuckkk y/n...." It comes out in nearly a growl, and he pushes your upper half further into the bed.
"Yer doin' so good bonnie...so fuckin' good..."
Another maon crawls its way out of your throat, the others you'd managed to quell, small sounds here and there, but you can't stop this one.
You push your hips against his, letting your knees spread further apart trying to get him in at a deeper angle.
"Please sir, please, fuck-"
The words tumble out of your mouth before you can register what you're even trying to beg for, your figers clench at his sheets beneath you, they smell like him, everything smells like him.
"Y/N..."
His voice is a groan, it's all you hear as he shifts your position, yanking you up by your hair, bringing your back to his chest, thrusting himself upwards into you.
"Johnny...fuck!"
You find your arm going over your shoulder, wraping around the back of his neck, trying to find purchase on something
His lips latch onto your neck as though he's drawn to it, his tongue swiping over your skin and his teeth leaving bites along your throat and shoulders. He breaths hard against you, inhaling your scent.
"Steamin' bloody Jesus..."
He groans, his pace picking up a little further, one hand still brusingly on your hip, the other slides down your front, fingers finding your clit easily.
It brings a moan to the surface of your lips, and rather than being scolded Johnny simply murmers another praise of 'good lass' in your ear, his hips snapping against yours, rythmic.
"Johnny-"
"Y/N..." He huffs, his fingers going faster against your bud. "'M close...need ye to tell me where..."
"Inside Johnny, please...fill me up..."
"Jesus Y/N..."
His voice is breathy, heavy against your skin as he continues, his hips getting erratic, until finally he gives a groan, shoving his face into your shoulder, riding out his climax, the feeling of his cum hitting your inner walls pushing you closer to yours.
He rides out his, moving his hips slightly, much slower than before, and keeps his hand going, trying to keep his previous pace.
"C'mon lass...ye can let go now...it's yer turn..."
He mumbles, breatheless.
It's not much longer of this praising and the movement of his fingers before you do just that, squeezing around him and moaning out his name as you finally reach that high.
As the two of you come down, breathing hard, Johnny still inside you, head leaning against your shoulder, he slips an arm around your waist and offers a gentle kiss to your shoulder.
"Thank ye lass..." he murmers. "Tha' was fun."
"Thank you Johnny."
"Ye ain't gotta thank me...I've wanted to do tha' for god knows how long."
"Maybe we can do it again sometime."
"Oh trust me lass...we will be."
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Today, in this workshop, I took part in a three-minute painting. It has to be the same methods we have to do. We have to choose the colours. We had to search for a book, pick our colours, and mix them outside. We have to use the pots, and we have to use them. Quit paints. This time, I used lighter colours. So I used titanium white. I was mixed out a light blue light. Red-orange. Or magenta. I. also mixed out a new one. And yellow and nearly green. It's more like a glass green because it's very light. So, on this three-minute painting, we're done. We are breaking the figures. It's about understanding the statistics because they create a shape. Our tutors were sure to use a sample of charcoal drawings. As we can see from the statistics on the second-minute accent, I have to paint emphasising the eyes. It is a bit tricky because I still don't understand the definitions easily, so this is more like controlling the colour, emphasising, and finding outstanding points. The last one is the background. In this workshop, I feel like I need to be more active. So I was less active and didn't attend it that much, so I could understand this. So, next time, I will participate more often. I may use this technique, too. Get along with this technique because, just like with charcoals, I could get along with the 3-minute drawings. It's also vital that I made a mistake with the brushes, so my brushes seemed like I used, like, um. Around brushes, and also, it's a relatively small brushes. I have been used to it, and this workshop is about something other than how precise work is. Being produced, it's more like how I can control the colours. How can I control the darkness to lighten? How can I control the surface? For instance, my teacher has also shown me an example of some surfaces. The flat surface and The round surface. About the differences with his hand. So, the chalk works as an example. The model was sitting on a flat surface. Mine is more like just the figures that come out so far, with critical paintings. I still need to be leading about the colours and find. The right brushes. I may have to use the big and fun brushes more often instead of the small round brushes. I might be over-focusing on being in a bit to proceed with my work. I also have to watch out next time I have to make myself choose colours inspired by artists and search for more books, even if I was very, very, very enthusiastic about choosing my own ways of colours. So, it's a reminder to pick a colour from the book and pay attention to the mixing.
Today, I used. Brown paint. So, with the brown paint, I just use the regular brown paint. Paint the burnet I decided to make. Some with black and white so I could get greyish-brownish tones for myself. I wanted to use a firm tone of ground today. I prefer using only a few primary colours today; I wanted to try something new. I enjoyed mixing the colours. I've also learned about something. About mixing the colours, again, I have to focus on the shapes because everything is more representative of abstract located variation points. Examples include my eyes connecting somewhere or my shoulders, my eyes connecting my feet at different angles, what it covers, or the models sitting in front of their hand having something covering the model's hand or feet that's behind the curtain. I also need more research on abstracts to define my mind, plus position and variation points to study and the artist, my teachers, are mentioning. I have to keep switching water, wash my brushes, and keep my papers from sticking to one another if they're wet or making mistakes and ruining the design. I should immerse myself in my free time. It might help me improve my vision.
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You're an exchange student part 2:
You can read the first part here
You sit awkwardly on a gigantic chair while holding a lukewarm, barely touched cup of tea with both of your hands. Your back is straight and your shoulders are tense. You're starting to feel a bit sore after being still for a long time but you can't bring yourself to move.
After the incident with the first cultist —or what you still think is a cultist, the redhead girl— the tall lady took away your bug repelent and lighter along with your backpack, putting them on the top row of a nearby shelf where she was sure your little hands wouldn't reach.
If you're honest, you're not sure how you ended up sitting in the chair in front of the gigantic fireplace with many heavy comforters on you providing much needed warmth, feeling like an unexpected but not unwelcomed guest instead of the next sacrifice, but truly you're not complaining. This is thousand times better than to die outside from the cold.
As you sit there innocently waiting for the next important thing to happen, you can see that the two young women who arrived after you are exchanging a few words with Miss Tall Lady while taking off their coats to reveal several layers of winter clothes underneath. It's strange to you, but you pay it no mind. Every person takes different to the cold, after all.
The tall lady starts pacing back and forth in front of you heatedly talking, glancing at you once or twicce, and it's not hard for you to notice the strain and exasperation in her tone. Whatever she's saying sounds serious, but you can only make out a few words like 'offering' 'wrong' and 'mistake'.
Not knowing what to respond your find yourself distracted by the decor. Your eyes roaming every detail of the chiseled fireplace, taking in the most fine of the details. Then, is the stairwell that catches you attention and you can't help but to think it would be a great place to slide on a cardboard box.
"Are you listening to me?" A commanding voice and a snap of fingers brings your wandering mind down from the clouds and your neck snaps to face the woman. Her eyes are a beautiful golden, and you can't believe you didn't notice before.
"Your eyes are mesemerizing..." You say in your language, breathless, the words slipping past your lips almost as in a trance. Your gaze goes a bit down and your fingers twitch with a sudden desire to run them over those blood-red lips and feel for yourself if they are as soft as they look.
Miss Tall Lady looks thrown off by the foreign accent in your voice. It's definitely one she hadn't have the pleasure of hearing before and somehow makes her pause. Her mind might be playing tricks on her but why did whatever you said felt like some kind of compliment?
"Mother?" One of the young women from before asks tentatively. You don't know if you're right but you think the girls are the woman's daughters.
"Take this one to the library. I will follow shortly." Miss Tall Lady says before hurriedly walking away, though without losing her lady-like grace. Your eyes follow an hypnothic sway of hips going up the stairs before you sense a hand being extended towards you, expecting.
"Teacup, please." A blonde, very polite-looking young lady says. You jump a bit in your seat and inevitably blush, thinking for a moment you were caught in your respecful percieving, but to your relief the woman in front of you didn't seem to notice that.
"Uh..." You're not sure what Miss Blonde wants, but judging by the look she's giving you, you suppose she wants to greet you formally, so you do what any other civilized person would do. "Hi, it's a pleasure to meet you, miss." You say as you properly position the teacup in your left hand and with your right you shake hers. She's taken aback, but after a second of hesitation a smile breaks and graces her face.
A pair of loud laughs sound from behind the blonde. The young woman with the dark hair approaches you both from the side with an amused grin. "I like this one, Bels."
"An odd one indeed." Miss Blonde replies.
The last one of the unusual trio approaches on the other side of the blonde, the redhead you knocked out earlier. She looks at you intently. "Just so you know, no one besides mother sends me to sleep without consecuenses, little one." and punctuates her statement with a boop to your nose.
"Yes, yes, you'll get your revenge later, Daniela. Let's not keep Mother waiting." You're hoisted up by the hand. The warm comforters falling off your back and piling on the big chair, instantly making you shiver with the lack of heat. The three women walk away and you have no other option than to follow them.
The door is opened and inside you find yourelf gaping at the amount of books stacked on the big shelves. You can count with one hand the times you've been in a house that has its own library, but this one by far takes the cake. "Can i grab a book?" You ask to Miss Dark Hair, pointing to one of the nearestt bookshelves while giving your trademark Puppy Eyes.
"What? You want to read?"
"Book." You say, pointing again insistently to the bottom row of antique books.
"Sure, go have your fun while Mother arrives." Miss Blonde nods and you waste no time to grab the fattest, heaviest book of them all and sit on the floor with your legs crossed, only to sigh in dissapointment as the book is in a language you yet again can't understand. But as you flip the pages you can see that it has very depicting images of old eras that you find fascinating.
You don't notice the time passing as you 'read' undisturbingly, until a big hand is placed on your shoulder and you almost jump out of yor skin, closing the book with a snap, effectively losing the page where the images told you the process to make soap.
"Someone's been studying, i see." The Tall Lady from before stands before you in all her height and you cand help but to rake your gaze all over that goddess until you reach her eyes, not without your flushed face at the end. "So, i brought you here for a reason." She says while her hand motions you to stand. "Here at the Dimitrescu Castle we are in possesion of many doors to knowledge, which does include many books that offer some insight about other countries along with their tongues." You're nodding along whatever she's saying, not a single word ringing a bell in your understanding but to you it would be impolite to leave her hanging. Tall Lady stops in her tracks, in front of a very dusty bookshelf with even older books. Her hand goes from side to side selecting several books which she then hands to you.
You eye the books curiously and you notice that they're a vast collections of translating dictionaries, all varying in length and language. You kneel and start looking through them, being mindful of the most antique and delicate ones. You spot a thin one but with a very familiar dialect and you look up to give Tall Lady a toothy smile. "This one is! Uh... Wait, let's see." You open the book and look through the content searching for words. You stand and motion the lady to lean a bit and start pointing words.
'Student.'
'Cold.'
'Lost'
'Thankful."
As you keep making sense with the few words you're provided, the expression on the lady's face changes to a one of understanding and pity. She pulls out a very fancy-looking pair of glasses out from who knows where and takes the book from your hands, flipping through it's pages, looking for words of her own.
'Stay.'
'Dinner.'
'Sleep.'
'Rest.'
She points word by word and you get the hint. You nod eagerly and smile. Tall Lady smiles back at you and for a second there you feel your heart paralize. You could have sworn you saw a pair of unusually long canines on that pearly white smile. But surely you're just tired, right?
"Daniela, please take our guest to one of the spare rooms." The lady says gesturing to the red-haired young woman.
"Yes, Mother." And the next thing you know your being lead by the arm out of the room.
Once you're gone the tall lady's whole demeanor changes to one of anger and she let's out a frustrated sigh. "The nerve of those villagers. To send a foreigner as the monthly offering! No wonder why the man-thing you brought was insisting it was a mistake."
"They're not respecting the deal, Mother. Should i make them understand who they're dealing with?"
The Tall Lady's pointer finger rests on her lips as she thinks. "No. I'd like to have a word with the leader." She put the book on a the nearrest table with a bit too much force, snapping the poor table in half. "Bela, bring him to me."
---------
Part two is up. Less comedy, more plot. This isn't planned to be long so maybe this will only have one or two more chapters.
@thejennystuttle
#alcina dimitrescu x reader#alcina dimitrescu#lady dimitrescu x reader#lady dimitrescu#alcina x reader#re8#my fic#bela dimitrescu#cassandra dimitrescu#daniela dimitrescu#resident evil village
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I'd Never
Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader
Summary: It’s not that Javier isn’t interested in you, but there are some lines that can’t be crossed. Especially when you’re his partner’s wife’s best friend in Bogatá and he’s a DEA agent with a bad track record with relationships. But there has to come a breaking point, and this is it.
Rating: M
Warnings: curse words, alcohol and cigarettes (don't smoke kids), jealousy, a tiny bit of fem!receiving oral. If there's anything else I missed call me out.
A/N: This started as a simple little thing about why Javi avoids relationships. Then it turned into a "what would be the breaking point of that avoidance, though?" And it turned into this whole big thing lol. No beta we die like men. Please leave me feedback and reblog if you like 🥺💖
It’s been two hours since Steve called Javier and told him Connie was dragging him out to the bar and Javier was coming too. Steve told him exactly when to be there and Javier showed up only five minutes late. That was an hour ago and he was currently wishing he had just stayed in his own apartment…
Finally, the bedroom door opened and Connie stepped out. She had on a short dress and some strappy heels, her hair curled and makeup done to perfection in dark, smokey colors.
“Can we leave yet? The bars are gonna be closed by the time you’re ready,” Javier quipped.
“Sorry to keep you from your drinks, Javi, but this woman’s hair would not cooperate.
It was only then that Javier saw you, stepping out behind Connie and dressed up similarly. Your dress was black, strapless and fitted at the waist, then flowing out into an a-line skirt that accented the curve of your hip. Your makeup was lighter than Connie’s, but the bright red lipstick brought attention to your mouth and had Javier licking his own lips.
“Sooo, are we ready or what?” Connie pulled Javier out of his reverie. She already had Steve by her side, helping her into her jacket by the door.
“Ready,” rasped the brunette, pulling a cigarette from the pocket of his shirt. He escorted you and Connie to the front of the building while Steve went to bring the car around.
“Can I have one?” You asked from Javier’s right.
He immediately offered you the one he had lit and watched as your much smaller fingers took the cig from between his, brought it to your crimson lips and inhaled. You let the smoke roll out of your mouth before handing it over to him again. Taking it back, his dark chocolate eyes observed the red stain on the filter before he inhaled the last drag. Dropping the butt to the ground, he dug for another, lit it then handed it off to you immediately.
It was a practiced action between the two of you by this point. Ever since Connie brought you over for one of those weekly dinners she insisted Steve invite him to - “or he’ll never have a good meal, Stephen” - almost three months ago now. Javier wasn’t sure if you never actually had cigarettes of your own, or if you just made it a habit of stealing from him specifically, but you always asked for one and he never said no. At this point, he was certain he wouldn’t say no if you asked him for most anything.
***
At the bar, Steve and Connie go to find a table while Javier and you go up for the first round of drinks. The bar is crowded, but Javier easily carves out a spot for the two of you to wait for one of the bartenders.
It’s only a few minutes before a guy sidles up to your side and begins a conversation with you. Javier tenses, but the bartender distracts him for the moment as he gets everyone’s order in and waits. When he turns to hand you your drink, the guy is still there and you seem to be happily having a conversation, letting him lean in close to your ear so you can hear him over the music. With your drink in hand you give the stranger a smile and a nod before turning to Javier.
“I’m gonna go dance,” you say over the music.
Javier nods, but his mouth is curved down into a frown as he juggles three full drinks to the table that Steve and Connie claimed. He sits and glares out across the dance floor while the married couple next to him have a quiet conversation all their own.
He watches you as you dance with the stranger, his hand on your waste and head ducked toward your neck. He’s obviously saying something into your ear, and whatever it is makes you smile. As the guy turns your body so your back is pressed to his front, Javier feels a rolling, burning feeling in his stomach. He has no right to feel this way, he tells himself. You aren’t his to be possessive over.
It’s not that Javier isn’t interested in you, but there are some lines that can’t be crossed. Especially when you’re his partner’s wife’s best friend in Bogatá and he’s a DEA agent with a bad track record with relationships.
Javier isn’t good at long term relationships. He knows this well. It's the reason that he keeps his interactions with women strictly business, both professionally and sexually (though sometimes those two things can be one in the same in his job). It’s the reason he left Lorraine on the day they were to be married and ran away to Columbia. And it’s the reason he keeps you at a distance when all he wants is to hold you in his arms and smudge your lipstick across your lips as he kisses you. Because you deserve better than a fast burn relationship that leaves you broken, and he knows better than to think he can get it right this time.
Instead, he watches your body as it melts into this random, watches as your hips meet his and you both move in time to the tempo of the song. And he glares. It isn’t a conscious action, but he glares across the room as he absently drinks his beer.
"If you glare hard enough maybe the whole place will burn down," comments Steve with a knowing smirk. “Or maybe he’ll just disappear and you can finally just make a move.”
Javier turns his glare to his partner. “Very funny, Murphy.”
Connie stands and places an arm on his shoulder. “Just go out there, Javi. Dance with her,” she urges him before turning to her husband. “Come on, babe. Buy me another drink and come dance with me.”
Steve turns blue eyes to meet brown. “Meet ya out there?” he asks Javier with a snarky little smile.
“Yeah fucking right,” Javier mutters to Steve’s retreating back, eyes quickly finding their way back to you. He watches you. Watches as you embrace Connie and pull her in to dance. Watches as that stranger’s hand finds it’s way over your stomach and up, up, up until he’s grazing the bottom of your breasts. Watches as he finds himself pushing through the crowd, getting closer and closer to you, and as his own hand engulfs your wrist and pulls you away from the asshole.
“What the hell, Javi?” you exclaim, spilling a bit of your second drink between the two of you.
Javier doesn’t answer; he silently accepts the car keys from Steve and nods at his partner's brief, “we’ll catch a cab home, man.” Then he leads you through the bar, draping his leather jacket across your bare shoulders before you even hit the doors, and continues to lead you to the car.
“Javier! What the hell?” you reiterate. You don’t fight him, though, and you accept his chivalry when he opens the passenger door and helps you into the seat.
He mutters some excuse that you barely hear before he shuts the door and jogs over to get in the driver’s seat. He pulls out of the parking lot with only a muttered, “I’ll drive you home,” but stays quiet other than that. He barely remembers walking out onto that dance floor, doesn't know why he dragged you away, and has no words to explain himself to you. He knows he owes you more than that, owes you some sort of excuse that he can’t give. Not without opening a door to something that he’d never be able to take back.
He tries not to look at you sitting next to him, swamped in his coat with confused eyes and a pout on your painted lips. Instead, he focuses on his driving, focuses on the dark streets in front of him, and focuses on bringing his emotions back in check. Building his walls back up so that he doesn’t hurt you.
He lights a cigarette, taking two drags before silently handing it to you. You accept the smoke, finishing half of it before passing it back without a word. You both smoke two more cigarettes like this before Javier pulls up to your building.
“I’ll walk you up,” he finally breaks the silence. And so he escorts you all the way up to your door without so much as another word. In the harsh fluorescent lights, he can feel you observing him, knowing you can see the hardening of his brow over his stormy eyes, the way his mouth is turned down into a pouty frown and the hunch of his broad shoulders.
At your door, you pause and Javier knows you want him to say something. Anything at all to make you understand. But when he doesn't, you unlock your door, hand resting on the doorknob.
“You know what? No, Javi. I’m not going to let you just leave me here like this without an explanation,” you finally explode. “What was that about back there? Why did we leave early?”
Javier huffs, but his eyes refuse to meet yours. You won’t back down, though. “Please talk to me,” you practically begged now.
He has thought about this moment a lot, how he would respond if you finally confronted him about this push and pull that you both engaged in. The light flirtations that he allows himself to indulge in without ever letting it advance to the next step. Light touches as you pass the cigarette back and forth between quiet banter, eyes meeting across Steve and Connie’s dinner table, a fluttering of your lashes and the twist of his lips into a grin just for you.
Javier makes the mistake of meeting your eyes. “I didn’t like seeing that cabrón all over you,” he finally spoke through clenched teeth. “I don’t like seeing any man looking at you the way he was, or dancing with you the way I should be.”
“The way you should be...?” you trail off, trying to understand what he’s saying.
“The way I want to be,” Javier adds.
There is a heavy pause between the two of you for a long moment, then you’re in Javier’s arms, eyes searching his expressive ones and looking for a sign that it’s ok to move forward. Javier answers that question by leaning down and capturing your lips with his - tentative, waiting to see where it goes. Wanting to see if he was really going to take this step after talking himself out of it for so long now.
You don’t give him too long to think about it, pressing into his chest and deepening the kiss. Javier pushes back, feeling your curves pressed into his torso as your back hits the door behind you. Your mouth tastes like tobacco with faint undertones of the alcohol you had been drinking and Javier finds himself falling into it. Any reason he has created to convince himself to keep you at arms length is crashing down around him.
Breaking the kiss when air becomes a necessity, Javier grasps your chin where your lipstick is smeared, wiping along the red stain before bringing his lips to yours again. Then it’s the fumbling to get into your apartment, the frantic removal of shoes and hands roaming skin. Making your way through the dark apartment, lit only by the orange streetlights filtering through the windows, Javier kisses every bit of skin he can find from your face to your shoulders. He takes note of all the noises you make, from the quiet gasp when he finds the soft spot behind your ear, to the giggle from that spot on your shoulder where his mustache tickles you.
Javier is pushing up the skirt of your dress, caressing your sides as he explores with his mouth, fingers dropping under the band of your panties and beginning to ease them down. Halfway down your thighs, Javier grasps your hips again and lifts until you are seated on one of the stools at your kitchen counter.
Kneeling between your legs, Javi looked up at you, eyes reflecting black with lust. “I want this all for myself,” he rasps out.
“It’s yours,” is your response, voice husky and dark.
At your word, Javier wastes no time latching his mouth to the soft skin of your inner thighs, exploring this new expanse of skin slowly. By the time he reaches his intended destination, he has you squirming in the seat, leaking onto the fabric beneath you and begging him to hurry up. And being the weak man that he is when it comes to you, he gives in easily and finally delves into the sweetness of your core.
He tries to take his time still, savoring in the moment. But you are impatient now, bucking into his face and letting out a constant stream of commentary, “please, Javie. So close. Please don’t stop.” And how could he stop when he finally had you here? Finally gets to hear your moans and taste you on his tongue. By the time your first orgasm has washed over you, he has already decided to see how many times he can make you beg in one night. How many times he can say yes to you and earn his name on your lips.
By the time you are both spent, he's lying with you in the crumpled sheets of your bed. He basks in the afterglow as you cuddle into his side, head resting on his chest and his arm around your shoulders tracing patterns across soft skin. Once he is sure you have fallen asleep, he begins to ease his way from under you. He doesn’t get far though, as your hand reaches out to grasp his larger one.
“Please say you’ll stay,” you whisper sleepily. Javier instantly relaxes back into your pillows, hand shifting to encase your much smaller one in his.
“I’d never say no.”
#narcos#narcos fanfic#Javier Peña#Javier Peña x Reader#Javier Peña x You#pedro pascal characters#Pedro Pascal character fic
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Light Across The Seas That Severed (Ch2)
Read on AO3
Jamie was sat, feeling maudlin and staring into the depths of his pint after a particularly difficult day. If Jenny had been beside him, she’d tell him to wise up and be grateful for the situation he was in. But he still wasn’t used to being so far from home, away from his parents and Lallybroch. He wouldn’t let himself say it out loud but he even found himself missing the tinny aftertaste of a pint of Tennents that he had yet to find on sale south of the border.
He knew his parents were over the moon about his acceptance into Oxford, how could they not be? Jamie had walked around Broch Mordha with his mother and father a few days after he’d received the happy news and found that the standard twenty minute scoot around the shop was considerably stretched out to allow his parents to stop and boast to every person they could about their youngest son’s achievement. Jamie had smiled sheepishly and thanked people for their well wishes but if he was being entirely honest, there was a knot in the pit of his stomach every time someone mentioned him leaving home.
Jamie tried not to let his nerves get the better of him as he settled into his new home those first few days. It wasn’t just that he stuck out like a sore thumb as the 6’ 4 red headed Scot that was almost as broad as he was tall. It was the fact that the people seemed to be looking at him funny. He made the mistake of asking someone for directions and ended up on the receiving end of a joke about his accent, the man making a mean comment about Jamie being asked to join Oxford University as some attempt to reach whatever entry quota of undergraduates hailing from underprivileged backgrounds. It didn’t matter that he was there on the merit of his exam results that he had worked his arse off for, the same as everybody else. Jamie Fraser was a working class lad from the Highlands, not some self-entitled Etonian arsehole whose father knew somebody who knew somebody. He was surrounded by future Lords and Dukes and he knew that if he heard the words ‘titan of business’ again, he was going to have to start cracking some overprivileged skulls.
And so he sat in The College Bar on a Friday night, hidden away in the corner upstairs where he could sit in peace and brood over his very fortunate situation that he didn’t feel so fortunate about. The only thing that he made the whole thing worthwhile was the girl who lived a few doors down from him in Merton College.
The first time he saw Claire Beauchamp she was fighting a losing battle with a cardboard box that looked like it had already taken a few bashings. Jamie had moved into his dorm a few days prior and was out that morning in an attempt to scout a route for his morning runs. He was keeping a close eye on his AppleWatch, making sure that his heart rate was staying in the optimal zone when he encountered one of the more colourful expletives he’d had the pleasure of hearing before.
“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ!”
His head swivelled on his neck and his eyes landed on her.
Her long arms were wrapped around the box, trying to keep it steady on a propped up knee while the glaring at the taxi driver who was stood fiddling with his phone rather than helping the poor lass. Irritated at the absence of chivalrous manners, Jamie jogged towards the car to offer help.
“Are ye managin’? Here, let me,” he moved to her side and grabbed the next box, lifting it without thought and immediately straining as gravity worked quickly against him. “Christ, lass, what have ye got in here? Rocks?”
“That one contains books, laddie,” she spat back in frustration at him, trying her hand at matching the Scottish brogue and failing miserably. Jamie found it utterly adorable and couldn’t help but smile as he placed the box on the pavement and unloaded the next one which was thankfully much lighter. After wrangling her suitcase from the boot of the car, he tried not to watch the delicate movement of her limbs as she paid the fare.
Trying to pretend that he hadn’t been avidly watching her, he faked a jump of surprise as she thrust her hand towards him, “Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.”
He liked her instantly. He found himself thinking, who the hell introduces themselves with their full name anymore? What an interesting wee thing she was.
“James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser,” he returned the gesture, shaking her small hand in his large one, damning the tough skin of his calluses for keeping him from feeling the exact texture of the soft skin of her palm.
“That’s too many names.”
“What?” The question burst out of him in an exasperated laugh. “No, it’s no’. ’Tis the number of names my parents gave me and if ye want tae live a good long life, Sassenach, ye winna get intae the bad books of my wee ma.”
“What’s a… sassanatch?” Her head tilted to the side in curiosity.
“Sassenach,” he corrected her pronunciation with a wry smirk. He knew that if he tried to give her anything but the truth, she would see through him in an instant so he decided to answer honestly. “It means ‘outlander’.”
She snorted at him and rolled her leopard eyes into the back of her skull.
“Sorry to break it to you, Toto, but I have a feeling we’re not in Scotland anymore.”
“Now that I am painfully aware of,” he sighed, sending a cursory glance around the quad that they were standing in and almost willing it to magically transfigure itself into the hills of his home.
“Not enjoying it so far?”
“Jus’ takin’ me a while tae get used tae it, naebody spiks tae ye here. Said hullo to the man in the shops and he looked at me like I’d twa heids.”
He was putting it on a bit, thickening his accent to amuse her but he was delighted to see that it was working. She laughed, looking at her feet and then sighing at the boxes that he had stacked into a neat pile on the pavement. She looked wistfully at them and cast a sideways glance at the man in front of her, an idea forming in her mind.
“Rather large, aren’t you, Fraser?”
He grinned wolfishly at her, “That I am.”
“What if I make you a promise to say hello to you every time I see you? In exchange for a small favour?”
“And what would that be?”
“Help me to my room with my things?” She sent him a dazzling smile to try and convince him but he had already resigned to himself that his morning workout had changed from cardio into upper body strength training.
“Wisnae going tae let ye carry these yerself, I’m no’ that cruel,” he smirked as she triumphantly pulled out her phone, bringing the information of her dorm up on her screen.
“You’re a saint. I’m staying in Merton, you wouldn’t happen to know where that is?”
He tried not to look too enthusiastic as he felt the universe click things into place, “As a matter of fact, I do.”
And that day was the first day of their story together. With Claire holding open doors, Jamie managed to get her boxes to her dorm in three trips and they bantered the entire time, her quick wit shining from her and almost doubling him over with laughter at one point. Without really making an effort to do so, they seemed to find themselves in each other’s orbit more often than not, walking to lectures together despite chasing completely different degrees and finding that they enjoyed the same very specific spot in the library that offered the most sunlight with the least amount of noise. He surprised her the first time he appeared with the correct number of sugar packets for her to dump into her coffee and he beamed when she peeled the gherkins from her burger and dropped them onto his plate, knowing that he would eat them for her. They came to know each other, slowly showing the parts of themselves that not many people were allowed to see. She banged on his door in the late afternoon after a particularly bad seminar and his hand found the perfect purchase against her shoulder as she laid her head on his and cried, admitting to feeling overwhelmed and burnt out in such a competitive environment. In turn, he let her in on his feelings of inferiority which she quickly shot down, telling him that he was not only the smartest person she knew but the kindest and that was no small thing. Soon enough, they were practically inseparable, both having their own friends but somehow always ending up in each other’s company. Jamie began to relax into his life in Oxford, knowing that as long as he could do it with Claire, well, it might not be so bad.
“Nice to see you didn’t wait for me, Fraser,” she puffed as she sat herself down on the stool across from him at their usual table in the pub, unwinding her long scarf from around her neck as she greedily eyed the pint that was sat waiting for her. Claire took a long drink before setting it down again and sighing heavily as her fingers, stiff and bright red from the cold, attempted to undo the buttons of her coat.
“Ye call me and tell me tae meet ye in the pub in ten minutes and then ye show up half an hour after. What am I meant tae do, just sit and stare at the ‘hing?” Jamie muttered in response, not meeting her gaze as he picked at a piece of dried candle wax that had dripped and solidified on the table. He had been studying in his room when she had called, demanding that he meet her and even though he would rarely say no to her, it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t let her stew for a bit. Trying to hide a smirk, he pulled his eyes up to see her face, immediately regretting his teasing. “Sassenach? What’s worst wi’ ye?”
“It’s nothing, it’s-“ she finally managed to pull her arm free of her coat only to thrust it deeply into her pocket, retrieving her phone and staring at it with a furrowed brow. “Bloody bastard, he hasn’t even text me.”
His ears pricked up at the mention of a ‘he’ but Jamie kept his mouth shut, raising his pint glass to his lips to stop himself from blurting out all the questions that were brewing behind them.
“Why are all men total pricks, Jamie?” She took a deep drink from her own glass, her eyelids drooping slightly at the relief the cold liquid brought her before she wiped her lips with the back of her hand which she then waved in his general direction. “Present company excluded, of course.”
“Och, I dinna ken, ye’ve called me worse things in our time thegither.”
That earned him a laugh and he watched as her shoulders relaxed slightly, her slight frame melting back into her chair.
“Bad date, was it?”
Claire snorted, the sudden expel of air causing one of her curls to dance around her face, “I don’t suppose it counts as a bad one if the guy doesn’t even show up.”
“He pied ye?” Jamie’s skin felt hot as anger licked at his insides. Her face scrunched up in confusion, as it did sometimes if he used a colloquialism from home that hadn’t quite found its way across the border.
“What?” she asked before deciding that it didn’t matter, carrying on in her irritation. “He didn’t show! No call, no text, nothing.”
“Good riddance then. Where did you find this one?” He asked, not really wanting to know the answer.
Part of being her friend was watching from the sidelines as men, and some women, fell at Claire’s feet. Not for the first time, Jamie found himself ruminating on the fact that her name in Gaelic, Sorcha, meant light. She drew people in and without meaning to, they soon found themselves to be in her orbit.
“We quite literally bumped into each other in the library. He’s reading History.”
“And what would a history man be doing in amongst yer medical textbooks, Sassenach? Sounds like a bit of a creep to me. Or mebbe he was lookin’ up some horrible rash he’s got on his-”
“Same again?” She interrupted after downing more than half of her pint in an attempt to catch up.
She was already out of her seat before he had the opportunity to answer. He enjoyed, probably a little too much, watching the sway of her hips and the way her curls bounced as she bounded down the stairs towards the bar and he leant backwards, letting his head rest against the wall and sighing in frustration. She was going to spend the rest of the night sneaking glances at her phone, hoping that this new guy would try to get in touch with her and he would have to suffer in silence. He would tell her that she has nothing to worry about, that whoever this guy was would have to be a fool not to crawl over broken glass to get to her.
Because that’s what Jamie would do. If she ever asked him to.
After a second round and a third and a fourth, they came to be sat on the same side of the table, hidden away in the alcove that their table was situated in. They were both drunk although Jamie would never admit to it, saying that a Scot was never drunk as long as they could stand upright. Their shared laughter was getting louder and Claire’s gestures were getting bigger, sloppier, as the frustration began to pour from her.
“I mean, I’m reading medicine, for Christ’s sake! I have good prospects, I’m only minimally neurotic, I don’t think I’m that terrible to look at. So what’s my problem? Am I just destined to be alone for the rest of my life?” A massive hiccup ripped through her, followed by a laugh as she brought her hand to her chest as though the act would calm them. Jamie’s eyes fell to her hand, trying so hard not to let his eyes focus on the breasts beneath it. Realising that the drink had made his reflexes slower, he pulled his eyes to face forward, staring at the floor and worrying that he’d been caught.
“I dinna think so.”
Her index finger stabbed a little too hard at her phone, the screen lighting up and showing no notifications, “It’s not like there’s a line of men waiting patiently at my door.”
“Then they’re eejits.”
A whirlwind of curls twisted towards him, a slight smile that was playing on her lips admitting to her surprise. The words had left his mouth before he realised it and the moment he did, red creeped insidiously up from the collar of his shirt, seeping into his cheeks.
“Eejits, huh?”
He looked at her then, blue eyes fixing onto their honeyed counterparts, humour dancing across her face mixed in with the light that was cocooning them.
“Every man who doesnae fall at yer feet tae do yer bidding is an eejit,” he conceded.
“Are you including yourself in that list, Fraser?”
He fought the urge to roll his eyes, not needing to lend even more credence to what they both already knew but were too afraid to speak out loud. That he was completely under her spell and happy to be there.
“I think ye’ll find ye had me cartin’ yer wee boxes tae yer room within minutes of meeting ye, Sassenach.”
Claire bit her lips between her teeth, trying her hardest not to smile, “Your mother raised you to be a gentleman.”
“That she did. Which means I buy the next round and then I’m walking ye home,” Jamie said.
“Not heading to see Annalise tonight?”
Rising to his feet, he fought back the urge to snap at her, irritated at the mention of the girlfriend that he hated being reminded of when he was with Claire and simply replied with, “Not tonight.”
Something playful and dangerous glinted in the amber eyes and she leaned forward on her elbows, as though she was stalking her prey.
“Then I shall delight in having you all to myself.”
By the time Jamie returned with their drinks, the moment of flirtation had passed. Claire was back frowning at her phone and tapping a single bitten fingernail against the wood grain of the table. Determined to distract her from falling down the rabbit hole of despair, their final drink was spent teasing, telling funny stories to each other about the idiotic things that had been said in their seminars, gloating about who got the best marks on their last essay. Before they knew it, Claire’s scarf was being wrapped around her neck once more as the two of them stumbled into the cold night air.
They had stayed a little later than last call, a classmate of Claire’s being the barman on staff and allowing them to finish their drinks while he wiped down the bar and cleaned the lines. It meant that they were alone as they walked, not amongst the mass exodus of warm bodies that had left the bar twenty minutes previous. Jamie watched from the corner of his eye as Claire furiously rubbed her hands together in an attempt to introduce some heat. With the alcohol loosening the usual restraint that he kept firmly in check, he turned to her and grabbed her small hands in his and brought them to his mouth, blowing the hot air from his lungs against her skin. Even through the drunken fog, he felt the flickers of electricity that seemed to pass every time their hands touched. It wasn’t unheard of for their hands to find their way to each other’s in those long study sessions when both of them were tired and stressed and in need of a comfort. A gesture that said ‘It’s okay, I’m here with you’. Things were always easier if they touched.
Slowly, he became aware that she was holding her breath, confirming it by sweeping his eyes from her hands to her face. She was staring at him, like a leopard stalking its prey. No smart remark or witty retort fell from her lips which were parted, allowing her breath to leave her in little bursts that betrayed how fast her heart was beating. The drink making him bold, he began to lace his fingers through hers, the only sound on the street being her sharp intake of breath as he pressed their palms together. Jamie became immediately more aware that their faces were closer than they ever had been before, that her body was pressed lightly against his and he suppressed a groan at how easy it would be to pull her closer and lose himself in her. His eyes caught her her tongue darting out to wet her lips and he wondered if she realised that she had done it. He couldn’t stop looking at her mouth, her pretty pink lips forming shapes that he wanted to know the taste of.
“Jamie…“ her breath was sweet against his mouth. It was an invitation but there was a hesitance there that he recognised and he knew that she was thinking the same thing he was. That if they did this, if they kissed, nothing would be the same again.
“Aye?”
“Can I…?”
An imperceptible nod of his head was all it took for her dart towards him but she stopped himself just shy of his lips. His mouth was hovering above hers, so close that he could feel the warmth of her breath on his face. Jamie held himself there, basking in the anticipation of a moment that he had dreamed of so many times. This wouldn’t be another first kiss to regret.
A small whimper escaped Claire’s lips as she softly pressed her mouth against his and it was all it took to undo him, his whole self filling with the need to taste her the moment that their lips met. Jamie raised a shaking hand to her face, to cup her cheek and kiss her slowly, deeply, wanting to drink in every part of her that he could.
He was kissing Claire Beauchamp. And it was everything.
#light across the seas that severed#clan donnachaidh#ao3#outlander fanfic#jamie fraser#Claire beauchamp#outlander#modern au
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what about 21 with ler!techno and lee!tommy?
Maybe Tommy got caught stealing some of technos stuff or smth
The idea of Tommy getting caught stealing from Techno has always kinda been in the back of my mind and now I get to write it today is a good day
Also, it came to mind that you probably wanted Tommy stealing stuff from Techno’s house in the SMP but I did it where they just live in the same house and Tommy’s being a little shit so I'm sorry-
21: “I’ll give you five seconds to run.”
Techno never took off his crown.
It looked like it weighed a decent amount. Wasn't it a hassle to keep on all the time? Did it fall off often? If he kept it on all the time, then it must be comfortable, right? So what would it feel like if Tommy wore it?
Tommy had been wondering these things for quite a while now. And he decided that if he wasn't going to get an answer from Techno, then he should find one himself.
He opened the door to his older brother’s room, peeking inside and taking a glance around. Is this considered an invasion of privacy? He'll just be taking Techno’s crown, so as long as he doesn't go around snooping through his stuff... It should be fine right?
Tommy took a few steps inside the room, looking around to make sure nobody saw him. He felt like a criminal. Spotting Techno’s crown on top of a dresser in the corner of the room, he quickly stumbled his way towards it, gently reaching out to pick it up and being careful not to drop it. The last thing he wanted was to break Techno’s property. As he picked it up he quickly realised that it was much lighter than he first thought it would be - a pleasant surprise considering his goal was to try it on and he wasn't sure if he would like having a heavy ass crown on top of his head.
Tommy lifted the crown above his head and put it on, only for it to immediately fall over his eyes. He let out a small snicker and pushed it back a little, to ensure that the front of it it would stay at his forehead. The crown was surprisingly comfortable. It didn’t look that way when Techno wore it, but honestly, Tommy could see now how the pinkette can wear this about the place.
Tommy took one look in the mirror and instantly decided that he was stealing the crown. He knew it’d be a short-lived theft, he was bound to get caught soon, but he wanted to feel like a king. This must be why Techno is so confident in everything he does. The crown just hits different, you know?
The teen walked out the door, head held high as the crown still sat atop it. He took a few steps away from the door before he heard footsteps behind him, and his heart dropped. “Tommy.” A deep, monotone voice interrupted his joyful humming, and he slowly turned around, coming face-to-face with Techno, only this time cloakless and crownless. He looked way less intimidating without his signature king outfit. “Give back the crown, now.”
Tommy felt a nervous smile tug at his lips as he let out a sheepish chuckle, averting his eyes and already planning his escape. “Um- naaaaah. Listen, big man, you wear this thing all the time so it's only fair if I get to.” He knew exactly what he was getting himself into. He knew exactly how deep a hole he was digging for himself. Did he care? Nope! This was gonna be fun. “I look better in it anyways.”
Techno was eerily silent for a few seconds, causing butterflies to form in the blonde’s stomach. He pushed down his nervousness and faced him with his usual cocky smirk, which faded a little as his brother returned Tommy’s smug expression with his own. Fuck. “Ill give you five seconds to run.” Double fuck.
Tommy didn't move for a moment, but as soon as he saw Techno’s fingers twitch and heard the sound of his monotone voice start counting down from 5, he took off running, dashing past Techno and leaping down the stairs. When he’d reached the living room, he looked around frantically, looking for a place to hide as he knew there was no chance he’d be able to outrun Technoblade. After a moment of panicked searching, he saw it. A couch with a small space between the back and the wall. He’d be able to fit in there.
Tommy rushed over to the small hiding place, shuffling into the gap and curling into a ball. The silence that followed only made his heart pump faster. God, why couldn't he just have given him the crown? But then again... The rush this give him was kinda fun. He gasped quietly as he heard the sound of Techno’s footsteps come thumping down the stairs at a running pace, and Tommy’s immediate thought was ‘I fucked up’.
“Oh, Tommy~” Techno’s voice still sounded rather bored, but this time it was also sing-songy, giving it a teasing edge that Tommy wasn't used to hearing come from his usually stoic older brother. His face flushed as he clamped a hand over his mouth, silencing any giggles that he could already feel building up in his throat. He didn't pick a good enough hiding spot. He was definitely gonna be found.
“There’s no point in hidin’, Tommy. I'm gonna find you. Might as well come out, y’know, save yourself the anticipation.” The brit would’ve glared at Techno for saying this, but, in this situation, he couldn't. He’d make sure to fucking murder him later. That was, of course, if he survived his current predicament. “C’moooon... Where are you?”
Tommy sat in anticipation as he heard Techno’s footsteps slowly become louder and louder as he grew nearer, letting a small squeak slip through his lips once he heard him stop right at the couch. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath and preparing himself, trying to rapidly come to terms with the fact that he was royally fucked. And all over a crown too!
“AH-” Tommy let out a shrill shriek as he was suddenly pulled out of his hiding place by his sides, the two hands which had a hold on him also rapidly squeezing up and down as they dragged him out. He let out a few surprised giggles and began to lightly squirm, looking up and being met with Techno’s smirking face. “Nahahahah- Tehehechno no!”
“This is your fault,” Techno stated, shifting his attack up from the boy’s sides to his ribs, vibrating in-between each of them and making him let out a few squeals. Tommy kicked his legs and tried to sit up, only to be dragged onto Techno’s lap and trapped in a back-hug. “All I wanted was for you to give me my crown. Then none of this would've happened, but nooooo...” His nonchalant ranting only served to make the teen more flustered as he frantically shook his head, babbling out pleas and insults amongst his bubbly laughter. “You just had to make this difficult for the both of us. Didn't you?”
“Nahahah! Tehehehechno yohohou mahahahassive dihihihick!” Tommy said through his bouts of giggles, melting into the hug despite his constant squirming and kicking. His face was bright red by this point, especially since the anticipation was absolutely killer and the surprise attack took him off guard.
“You wanna give back my crown now?” Techno asked almost mockingly, leaning down to muzzle into Tommy’s neck and blowing a couple of tiny raspberries. Tommy squealed at each raspberry, his squirming and laughter only increasing as he felt the embarrassment rise from how vulnerable he was. All he wanted was his goddamn crown. Now he has to go through all this?
“N-nahahah! FuhuHAHAhuck ohohoff!” Tommy shook his head, lifting his arms to grip onto the crown, making sure it stayed on. Turns out this was a giant mistake, though, as Techno took advantage of his now exposed underarms and began to scribble at his hollows. The teen’s arms came crashing down in an instant and his laughter grew squeaky. “NAHAHAH! NOHOHOT THEHEHERE! TEHEHEHECHNO!”
The pinkette shook his head, sighing in mock disappointment as he continued to wiggle his fingers inside Tommy’s armpits. “Not there! Techno! No. You brought this upon yourself,” Techno said, mocking Tommy’s British accent at the beginning of his sentence. “If you agree to give me back my crown, then I'll stop.”
“NEHEHEVEHEHER!”
“Never? Well, guess this is your life now. Get used to it.” Tommy let out a loud shriek as he felt Techno move one hand down to squeeze at his hip, letting out a snort as now two of his worst spots were being attacked. “Oh? What was that?” Techno asked, a grin forming on his face. “Did you just snort?”
“NAHAHAHAH! NO IHIHI DIHIHIHIDN’T!” Tommy protested, looking down in an attempt to hide his glowing red face. Between his embarrassment and his two most ticklish spots being attacked at once, he felt himself quickly nearing his limit. But he wasn't gonna give up yet. He could go for a little longer. “T-TEHEHEHEHECHNOHOHO!”
“Yes? You gonna give it back now?” Techno seemed to be growing impatient due to how stubborn Tommy was being. And so, just to finish him off, he blew another raspberry on his neck. The teen screeched and fell into silent laughter for the duration of the raspberry, before rapidly shaking his head as his laughing returned.
“YEHEHEHEHES! TAHAHAHAHAKE THE CROHOHOHOHOWN!”
And just like that, it stopped. Techno grabbed the crown off of Tommy’s head and walked away, leaving him on the floor to regain his composure. And as he gasped for breath, he had a thought.
‘I should steal from him more often.’
#lee!tommyinnit#lee!tommy#ler!technoblade#tickle#tickling#tickle fic#fanfic#mcyt#dsmp#dsmp tickle#mcyt tickle#ler!techno
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The silver tooth
This is a very small 'spinn off' from my story 'hasta mañana' on AO3. Where Heahmund has fun dragging the handcuffed Ivar in a restaurant and Ivar tells Heahmund the story about his silver tooth. Happened some hours after the arrest. Might post this on AO3 aswell.
Words: ~ 2200.
Pairing: Ivar x Heahmund.
Ivar stared at Heahmund, the corners of his mouth pulled down slightly. Heahmund could see that the boy had briefly let his bright eyes slide down to the handcuffs that Heahmund had tightened under the table to keep at least one of the Mexican brat's hands fixed; it was only when the bright eyes turned sullenly and extremely angrily on Heahmund's face again that Heahmund raised his eyebrows.
"This is humiliating." Ivar snarled, but Heahmund only snorted.
"How is it more humiliating than being chained in a car, huh?" Heahmund replied; he waved to a waitress who nodded slightly at him while Ivar clicked his tongue lightly.
"Is this some American way of taking your prisoners out to dinner? What kind of shit is that?" the boy hissed venomously.
Heahmund smiled broadly. "We've been driving across the desert for several hours, and the turf where your Mexican ass belongs is just a little far away. And since you scum can't be left alone in the car - later someone will think you're a whimpering dog that has to be freed because I would have left the air conditioning off - you'll just have to eat with me. I think I'm even nice. They wouldn't even let something like you knock on the glass door."
Ivar bit his lower lip so hard that the skin turned slightly white where his incisors sank in lightly. Anger, Heahmund could see it exactly, and he loved it. They had had a long trip since Heahmund had arrested the drug lord's son - but as it was in the foothills of the Mexican desert, the nearest police station was not just around the corner.
Heahmund had known that people had reacted terribly shocked to his and Ivar's arrival - but he couldn't see himself sitting in a car with that bastard for 24 hours without eating or drinking anything. Especially since the tormentor put his damn feet down on his dashboard every two hours, the crappy white sneakers that Heahmund already hated on principle. The fact that they hurled racist expletives at each other every 20 minutes added to it. Until Heahmund had discovered this dinky little diner on the outskirts of a small desert town and had decided to make Ivar look really stupid for his own amusement and encouragement.
He knew that people knew who Ivar was. They knew rumors, like ghosts, spoken in whispers behind street corners. And even though Heahmund, as an annoyed cop, smelled treachery behind every Mexican face, he had still decided to make this stage out of sheer amusement. And he loved Ivar's hate-distorted face, the rapidly creeping blush on his cheeks as people kept staring at him. Almost like a lion in the zoo.
"I'm not hungry." Ivar growled; his lip had by now released, but his eyes were still narrowed in anger.
"Then don't eat. I honestly don't give a shit if you have something in your stomach. You're half a shirt anyway.", Heahmund replied amusedly, ordering something to drink and eat. Fortunately, the waitress spoke English; he would never have had the nerve to ask that damn bastard for a translation. And even though the waitress turned to Ivar with slightly red cheeks and asked him in a shaky voice in Spanish what he wanted to eat, Ivar didn't look away from Heahmund's face; hate, so much hate. Heahmund's limbs were tingling. The tension between them had increased since the car ride.
"Sólo agua. Eso es todo.", Ivar muttered hoarsely; the waitress nodded and disappeared. Heahmund watched her go, interrupted only by the slight snort that came between him and Ivar. The boy jutted his chin slightly.
"Do you seriously think women like her go for cops?" he said; Heahmund raised his eyebrows. He'd had a hard time getting used to Ivar's hard Spanish accent, even if it did sound exciting in some way. Like everything else in this country. But Ivar was something very special. Something very special bad that Heahmund had been working towards for years. Capturing the son of the Ragnar Lothbrok, the ghost of Mexico, was a brilliant job. He just had to drive this little bastard safely to the precinct, that was all.
"All women like cops."
"They don't."
"They sure do."
"Tss, as if! Especially on you foreigner. Women don't like traitors."
"Women don't like criminals."
Ivar leaned back slightly in the seat; his bright eyes slid over Heahmund's face, then he gave a light snort of laughter.
"Besides, I don't think you’re into women," Ivar said, and Heahmund fixed the stare of his eyes on him. The young Mexican raised his eyebrows slightly, and Heahmund snorted.
"What did you just say?"
"I said you don't like women. You're looking at me like-" Ivar interrupted; the waitress brought the drinks. And just as she was about to set the glass of water down in front of Ivar, Heahmund lightly bumped the tray with a movement, and the glass of water fell. The waitress apologized, while Ivar pressed the back of his head against the padded bench and stared angrily at Heahmund.
"Oops. My mistake. Well, the good water for the poor boy! Get another glass, will you?" Heahmund said with a smile, and the waitress nodded after removing the grossest dirt. Ivar's eyes literally glowed as Heahmund looked at him again.
"You're an asshole."
"And you’re scum. A chilled drink like that does a world of good," Heahmund retorted; he took a big gulp from his glass of cool iced tea and tried his best to cover a wide grin in his mouth as he saw Ivar's eyes narrow.
"I hope someone shoots you soon," he said.
"You can wish for that when you're in jail, Goldy."
"Why you fucking cop call me Goldy?"
"Because of your skin."
Ivar's mouth dropped open, then shut again; his eyes swept once down Heahmund's body, and he nodded deprecatingly at the cop.
"Racist."
"With you and your family gladly."
"Oh, that was clear. I swear you're going to regret this," Ivar growled. He didn't move away when the waitress placed a new glass of water in front of him while Heahmund got a plate of food. Heahmund immediately started eating, and he noticed after a while that Ivar was looking slightly out the window. The boy did everything but look in Heahmund's direction, and chewed lightly on his lower lip.
Heahmund knew he was hungry. Since the arrest, which had been half a day ago, the boy had eaten nothing and drunk very little. The water glass was half empty, and there was a reflection of the slowly setting sun in the slightly milky glass. Heahmund stared at the glass for a while, then back at the food. He left a little left over, and after a while pushed the plate over to Ivar. "If you want, eat. You Mexicans don't throw anything away and make tacos out of everything."
Ivar's eyes rolled upward, and he snorted deeply. "Can we maybe do without your standard cop jokes about us for a change, huh? A little more civility? One could almost think you're a cop from the gutter.", Ivar snorted, and before Heahmund could take the plate away from him again, he pulled it over to him with his free hand. It wasn't much - but it was already too much by Heahmund's standard. This little rat didn't even deserve the water that was next to the plate.
Ivar ate hastily. And only when Heahmund paid the waitress and unchained Ivar from the bar under the table again, the bright eyes briefly turned to Heahmund, who took the extremely unruly boy hard by the handcuffs and led him away. It did not escape his notice that a deep shade of red was traveling down Ivar's cheeks, up to his cheekbones. He gripped tighter, even as he heard Ivar's slight snort accurately.
Heahmund chained the boy to the open window of the car door, with one arm, and with a soft exhale took a cigarette from his bulletproof vest a few feet away. It took him a while to find his lighter among the guns, pepper spray and other things, but then he lit the cigarette and took a big drag from it. Only after a while did he feel Ivar's burning gaze on him; he turned his eyes to the boy and nodded. Ivar had leaned back against the car door, his arm contorted so that he could stand reasonably well, before nodding to Heahmund as well.
"Can I bum one?" he asked, and Heahmund laughed lightly.
"Aren't you still too young for that? And more importantly, why should I?"
Ivar rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh; his bright eyes pointed at Heahmund's bulletproof vest. "Come on, I can't take another eight hours in that car with your fucking aftershave up my nose. Please."
"If you keep your sneakers off my dashboard, then yeah," Heahmund snorted; he fumbled again for the cigarettes and raised his eyebrows in annoyance.
"Sure."
He lit Ivar's cigarette. Because of the fact that they were a little closer due to the restricted movement, Heahmund could see the fine scar that stood out on Ivar's caramel-colored skin on his cheek; he also smelled it again, that damn sweet smell of copal and lavender. He wrinkled his nose slightly; something silvery flashed at him as Ivar took the first, deep drag from the cigarette and expelled it gleefully into the lukewarm air.
He had seen that silver tooth the first time he had arrested Ivar. With the roar the boy had put on, it had been hard to miss; besides, it was the tooth next to his first four incisors, quite conspicuous. Heahmund took another drag from the cigarette, then nodded over to Ivar, who eyed him the same way. The setting sun bathed everything in a warm light, which reflected perfectly like melted honey on Ivar's face.
"The tooth, that silver one." Heahmund said; he leaned against the car beside the boy, emitting a puff of smoke.
Ivar raised his eyebrows. "What about it?"
"Is that fashion? Or is that some...Mexican bullshit you guys like to do. Like your fucking tattoos."
Ivar snorted. "You have one on the back of your neck yourself, I've seen it. And no, it's not bullshit, fucking asshole." The boy shifted his position slightly; Heahmund knew that the handcuffs were actually a much tighter fit, because they left marks on Ivar's relatively thin wrist.
"What is it then?"
Ivar was silent for a moment; he fixed his gaze on the setting sun, and again expelled a light haze of smoke.
"It's a gift. I was traveling in Mexico City once, must have been two years ago. A girl almost got hit by a truck she hadn't seen, and her parents were standing too far away. When I pulled her aside, I hit my head on a hard stone wall. My tooth fell out."
"Must have been a baby tooth." Heahmund said as two pairs of narrowed eyes locked onto him; Heahmund laughed lightly. "It's fine, sorry."
"Anyway," Ivar continued; "anyway, the little girl's parents were so grateful to me that they offered to correct it. The father was a dentist. It's white gold, it was worth more than the damn practice. He said actually he had wanted to save that silver tooth for a specific occasion in his own life. But he said his daughter's life was absolutely worth it. And I've had that tooth ever since. It always reminds me of what happened there."
Heahmund exhaled. For a moment, he didn't know what to say - which was extremely rare in his life. He had arrested Ivar to get to his father with him. He wanted to bust the whole family, this whole cartel - but he hadn't expected anything like this. And he wondered for a moment if he should even believe Ivar, because after all he was part of this corrupt and violent family. This merry-go-round of violence and drug dealing, of murders and illegal activities.
But when Heahmund turned his gaze to Ivar, who was still staring towards the sun, the back of his neck prickled slightly. He saw exactly the slight bulge under Ivar's skin at the mouth, the tender bulge, a clear indication that the boy was just running his tongue over the said silver tooth, obviously thinking back to that experience. So, scum could also do good.
Bright eyes locked on Heahmund, and the two looked at each other for a moment. The rays of the sun made Ivar's eyes seem almost silver, and Heahmund's throat went terribly dry for a moment. Pure silver, beautiful, wild silver. Forbidden silver.
"Once I see your dirty sneakers on the dashboard, I'll kick them out the window myself," he said darkly, and Ivar clicked his tongue.
"You would miss me, asshole."
"Tss. No more than you miss rats after they bite you."
"Charming, cop."
"Shut up, dirty little bastard, and you keep your mouth shut on the ride. I don't want to hear a word."
Ivar snorted slightly, and as Heahmund released his handcuffs from the door and almost roughly shoved the boy into the car, their eyes met again.
"Not a word, bastard."
"Pendejo, you fucking gringos are all the same."
That damn accent. Heahmund almost had to bite his fist as he walked to his side of the car to stop the tingling and fire in his veins. After all, he could never and would never allow someone like Ivar to get too close to him.
@youbloodymadgenius (ehm was it really everything written? 😂🙈)
#ivar the boneless#heahmund x ivar#heavar#ivar x heahmund#vikings#fanfic#ivar fanfic#ivar lothbrok#police#mexico#handcuffs#one shot#minor swearing#bishop heahmund
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King Of The World // Michael Gray X Fem!Reader
Summary: Just after getting dumped by your boyfriend, you meet Michael at a bar in New York City.
Warnings: Drinking, Swearing
Word Count: 1124
Author’s Note:
I’m open to any guidence on how to develop my writing skills. English is not my first language so if I have any mistakes, please excuse them and let me know if there is any I can fix.
This one is for my best friend who adores Michael, unlike me who lowkey dispises him. I love you and I hope you enjoy it. I hope all my readers do too.
Requests are open. You can request any Peaky Blinders related imagines or prompts for me to write. I’m a minor so I don’t take NSFW requests, please keep that in mind.
You can ask to be added to my taglist. You can be tagged to works on a specific character or just any of my works. Please dm me or send your wish to my ask box if you’d like to be added.
———————
A glass of whiskey was all you needed. You had just got dumped by your long term boyfriend, David. You were extremely angry at him for dumping you while you were wearing your prettiest dress.
You were walking down the streets of New York. You didn't have a jacket because it was the middle of the summer. You had paired your pretty blue dress with white heels.
Your heels made loud noises on the pavement, the sound stopped on the doorstep of a bar. There was music coming from inside, it was exactly what you needed.
You stepped in confidently, there were so many women in with their boyfriends and husbands. You noticed you would probably be the only single woman in there. It was the worst thing ever in that moment but you needed a drink at that exact moment.
You got inside, sat at the bar. “Women can’t sit alone at the bar.” the barman said looking at you. You chuckled, “I just got dumped, I don’t care, give me whiskey.” the barman looked impressed by your attitude. He turned around to fill you a glass, “And make it double.” you ordered.
You grabbed the glass as soon as it was put on you, you drank it in one sip. You put the glass down and whistled so the barman can give you his attention again. “Keep it coming.” you said, he nodded.
The more you drank, the more you thought of David. You gave 2 years of your youth to that bastard and he just left you because he wanted to be single for once. He didn’t deserve you anyway or that was what you told yourself.
When the barman put the fifth double whiskey on the counter, another hand reached for it. A big hand, a man’s hand. You turned to the owner of the hand in one motion, put your chin up. That was your drink and you wanted to make sure he knew that.
“I thought women weren’t supposed to drink alone here.” the guy said in an English accent. His green eyes were fixated on you but you were too focused on getting you drink back.
You hit his hand and took the glass, once again drank it all at once. “I just got dumped, I deserve an exception.” you said simply, his eyes didn’t move away from your eyes.
“Who would leave such beauty?” you turned back to him, examined his features one by one. His lips were chapped, you immediately thought of hydrating them with your kiss. He was attractive, had a strong jawline and pretty green eyes.
“Apparently David.” you mumbled, he sat down next to you. His intentions were obviously the same as yours. “So unfortunate.” he nodded, you smiled a little. Your slowly fading smile made him smile big.
“Two more.” he said to the barman, you didn’t need to drink it all at once anymore. Slow was better and your need to get pissed drunk was out of the picture. “You’re prettier than him, I might say it’s fortunate for me.” he chuckled at your words and serious expression.
“We’re both winning tonight then.” he said, took a sip from his whiskey. You laughed, “Seems like it.” he was so pretty. So pretty that you were almost glad David dumped you.
“You’re English, what are you doing in the States?” you asked, trying to have a conversation. He lit a cigarette, “Business.” he said, “Wall Street, must be exciting.” you replied. He simply nodded.
“It is but not as exciting as being back in Birmingham.” he explains, you couldn’t understand why. “What could be more exciting than being in New York?” you ask, he took a breath from his cigarette. You were so attracted to him that you forgot David even existed.
“My family is powerful there, I feel like the king of the world but here, I’m just another guy working in finance.” he admitted, saying that always impressed women. The only thing making him feel like the king of the world in New York was impressing women.
“I’m nothing here and would be nothing there, nowhere close to being on top of the world.” you said, he felt proud of himself for impressing you just like he wanted.
“You never told me your name.” he asked, your mind stopped working for a second. “Y/N” you said and because you paused for a second he felt the need to ask, “Is that a fake name?” you shook your head.
“Oh no, I’m just too drunk.” being satisfied with your answer, he showed you his hand. “Michael, Michael Gray.” you grabbed his hand and shook it.
“Nice to meet you Mr. Gray.” you smiled, seeing your interaction as a win. It was obvious it was going to be a good night for you. You took another sip from your whiskey, “May I?” you reached for his tab of cigarettes. He did nothing but nod.
Just as you put the cigarette between your lips, he took his lighter out and lit it for you. “Thanks.” you continued, “What are your plans for this wonderful night?” you asked before taking a drag from the cigarette.
“Probably kiss a lovely lady.” you felt your cheeks blush. “Like you.” you had no mirror but you were sure your cheeks were burning red. You took one last drag from your cigarette and put it down way before it was close to ending.
You pulled your chair closer to his, “Then go ahead.” you said. He pulled you in to his lips. His chapped lips felt harsh on your moisturized ones. The heat of your bodies interacted, he was colder against your warm one influenced by all the whiskey you had earlier.
While your lips were colouring his red with your lipstick, his tongue slipped into your mouth. This was the last thing you expected for that night though you obviously wanted it.
After a full moment of sharing a passionate kiss, you pulled yourself away. You reached for your whiskey for the last time, pushed it down your throat. Now the glass was empty and you didn’t intend to ask for another one.
“What if we leave together?” you asked, Michael chuckled. He too reached for his glass, took a sip but didn’t finish it. He got on his feet, left a bit of cash on the counter and helped you get down by holding your hand.
Both of you left the bar, hands tied to each other. After getting dumped by your boyfriend just a few hours ago, this was obviously a fast shift into your new vision of relationships. You hoped he would take you to his apartment and he did exactly that.
#peaky blinders#michael gray#michael gray x reader#michael gray one shot#michael gray fanfiction#michael gray fanfic#michael gray x you#michael gray x y/n#peaky blinders fanfic#michael gray oneshot#peaky blinders imagine#michael gray imagine#peaky blinders x reader#finn cole#peaky blinders oneshot
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Welcome to Camp Sanders!
(I’ve downloaded three translators to find out half the time Google Translate was either the only one getting it right or the only one getting it wrong. If there is any mistakes in any language besides English, I am sorry as I only speak English fluently [ha, fluently]. Also yes, ANOTHER AU. Look, I’m idea/story fluid along with gender fluid. Deal with it.)
“I do not see the point of summer camp,” a fourteen year old boy stated, looking out the car window in resentment towards the camp and kids of varying ages running around.
This boy’s name was Logan Lee Lucy, born November 3rd in Japan and moving to the U.S. when he was three. With black hair pushed away from his eyes that were sapphire blue, he wore rectangular glasses and a black T-shirt with gray shorts. Normally he wore polos and ties, but his awful mother said that was too formal for where she was sending him.
Camp Sanders.
Camp Sanders was a summer camp for kids from eight to eighteen, and was in the middle of a forest without anything around it. It was a place for kids to find and pursue interests, and there was plenty activities from outdoors to indoors, pleasing every kid.
Every kid, except for Logan, of course.
“You need to spend some time in the sunshine and make friends,” his mother said in response, and Logan huffed, crossing his arms and sliding down the seat.
“Friends are for spineless maggots who are dependent on others for happiness,” Logan glared, and his mother sighed.
“No wonder why you’re never happy.”
“I’m happy plenty, I’ll have you know!” Logan lied, finally unbuckling his seatbelt, and grabbing his backpack.
“Alright,” his mother said, twisting around to look at him with a smile from the driver’s seat. “Just... try to have a nice summer, okay? I love you.”
“I love you too,” Logan said before leaving, grasping his backpack straps as he stared down the streams of kids, his mother driving away behind him. He was just about to follow the children before someone poked his shoulder. He looked over to see a boy that was probably his age, smiling widely.
He was fairly tan, with a infinite amount of freckles and curly orange locks with bright blue eyes. When Logan paid attention to the smile, he could see a small gap between his two middle incisors on the top. He had a baby blue crop top and khaki short shorts, with a pink backpack and round glasses.
“Hiya! I’m Patton Hart, fourteen, he/him!” He said, sticking his hand out to shake, which Logan did with a raised eyebrow.
“Logan Lucy, fourteen, he/him.”
“Nice to meet ya Logan!” Patton smiled wider, and Logan picked up on a small Irish accent. “Now, I’m no expert, but are you new?”
“Yes?” Logan blinked, wondering if he was that obvious before something else crossed his mind. “Wait, some people come here repeatedly?”
“Yeppers!” Patton said, pointing at himself. “I’ve been here for three summers before this one, and I’m friends with most that keep coming here! I just really love this camp! Among other things....”
Patton murmured the last part with a blush, suddenly acting shy as he fiddled with his earlobe with a tiny smile. Logan would ask, but he was rather befuddled with this new information.
“So you come back to summer camp... because you want to?” Logan asked in desbelief, and Patton’s shy demeanor vanished as he nodded with a bright grin.
“Uh huh! Who knows, maybe you’ll do the same!” Logan scrunched his nose at the statement.
“Doubtful, but alright.”
“Now, I’ll help you get signed in since you’re in my age group!” Patton said cheerfully, taking Logan’s hand and dragging him with the rest of kids that were going to a giant building, which Logan found out was the mess hall upon entering.
Logan, after looking around the -rather aesthetically pleasing- hall, realized that Patton was talking to him and listened in.
“-onder which cabin you’ll be placed in!”
“Cabin?” Logan parroted, and Patton glanced in his direction before pulling him to a forest green table with a couple clipboards.
“Yep! You’ll be placed in a cabin based on age and sex -unless you’re trans, than you go in with the gender you identify with so you don’t feel dysphoria- and you get five bunk mates!” Patton explained, telling him to sign in while he checked which cabin Logan was placed in.
Logan finished his signature when Patton gasped loudly, and Logan jumped, looking at him in confusion. Patton faced him excited, showing the clipboard to him.
“You’re in the Sides cabin! THAT’S MY CABIN!” And before Logan could open his mouth, Patton gasped again with a worried look and turned the clipboard to him again.
After scanning it, he sighed in relief.
“Uh,” Logan intelligently said, and Patton looked up, blinking.
“Oh sorry, I was just checking who left the Sides cabin. It was just Dev, so no reason to worry!”
“Alright,” Logan nodded, feeling like he was missing something.
“Well,” Patton said, grabbing Logan’s hand again. “Let’s head to our cabin! You’re going to love the others!”
They were out of the mess hall before Logan could blink, Patton being in more of a hurry than before, they weaved through the crowd before arriving at a small cabin that looked exactly the same as the rest of the cabins, if you excluded the sign above the door reading “Sides”. Patton took a calming breath before opening the door, and everyone in the room looked over, making Logan flinch even as they looked at Patton with wide grins.
Two of the boys were undoubtedly twins of Hispanic origins, one wearing a red T-shirt and washed out overalls, while the other wore a green T-shirt and black overalls with holes, their dark brown hair swooping dramatically and brown eyes filled with energy. It seemed these two were playing tug-o-war with a small rope before they opened the door.
Another had dark skin with a splotch of a lighter skin tone on the left side of his face, black hair braided away from his eyes. His left eye was green, while his right was brown, and he had a yellow tank top with a two headed snake and ripped jeans. It appeared this one was recording what the twins were doing with a smirk on his lips.
The final one seemed to be the only one of American descent in the cabin, with pale skin and brown hair long enough that it covered his eyes and ears and touched the tip of his nose. He had a strange hoodie that mainly was black, but the sleeves had alternating black and purple stripes, and the hood and pocket were purple. He also wore black high-waisted shorts with black thigh highs that almost reached the shorts, leaving the smallest sliver of pale skin between them, and purple headphones around his neck. He was hanging upside down, halfway off one of the top bunks, showing his emerald eyes.
“Hiya!” Patton said excitedly, dragging Logan in behind him, making Logan barely have time to close the door behind him.
“Patton!” The twins yelled simultaneously, dropping the rope and running over to hug Patton, thankfully making him let go of Logan’s hand so he could back away from the group hug.
When they pulled away, they looked at Logan, and smiled near-identical grins.
“Who’s this you brought with ya?” The one in red asked, making Logan happy when he stayed out of his personal bubble. Patton gasped and clapped, gesturing widely to him.
“Everybody, this is our new bunk mate, Logan! Logan, meet everybody!”
“Hi?” He said confused, and Patton pointed at the twins.
“These are Roman and Remus Royal, the twins! Roman wears red and Remus wears green,” Patton explained, and Logan nodded, making a silent note that the twins were color-coded. Then Patton walked over to the dark skinned one and slung an arm around him. “This is Janus Smith, a ball of sarcasm and friendship!”
Janus snorted, waving before saying, “less friendship, more snake.”
Logan blinked confused, wondering what that meant but Patton was already bounding toward the one hanging precariously from the bed, blush on his face.
“And this is Virgil Storm! He’s really anxious, listens to music a lot, and speaks any language except English out of spite, I’ve been told. He still understands English though!”
“こんにちは,” Virgil nodded, biting his lip. Logan nodded back, pleasantly surprised when Virgil spoke in his home language.
“こんにちは。英語を話してみませんか?” Logan asked, and he saw the others looking confused while Virgil smiled.
“私の家族は英語しか話せません。私は家族が嫌いです。”
Logan rose his eyebrow but nodded.
“Okay.”
“Anyways,” Patton said, dragging everyone’s attention to him. “It’s nice to see you all again!”
“You too!” The twins chimed, Janus nodding.
“Tú freisin Patton,” Virgil said, finally moving so he was not about to fall off the bed, covering his eyes with his bangs, and Logan was pretty sure Patton was blushing again. Probably because of everybody saying it was nice to see him as well.
At least, he thinks Virgil said that. Logan only spoke English and Japanese, not whatever that was. Though that did make him curious how many languages Virgil knew.
“So, shall we play twenty questions?” Janus questioned as Logan and Patton put their stuff on the remaining bunks. Everybody was quick to agree (wow okay he was going to have to get used to people speaking languages he didn’t understand), and Logan had only one thought as he watched Janus play catch with the twins, with Patton telling them how his year was and Virgil occasionally muttering to him in Japanese that he wished Logan luck with dealing with all of them.
Maybe this summer won’t be so bad.
#sanders sides#virgil sanders#logan sanders#thomas sanders#roman sanders#patton sanders#remus sanders#janus sanders#sanders sides au#camp sanders au#creativitwins#logicality#analogical#moxiety#royality#intruality#moceit#roceit#loceit#trash noodle#dukeceit#demus#kai’s writing
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Holden watched as Agnes tried to hide the tears welling up in her eyes, hide her unease at his assistant, AIDA, looking just like her.
"Just one last step." AIDAs chirpy but monotone voice said as she typed into a computer, her robotic smile plastered on her face. "You're doing well." Agnes sucked in a shaking breath and nodded before looked to Holden.
Holden rubbed her arm, drinking in every part of her that he could see. "See? Painless." His smile was pained, his tears barely restrained. "Just as I promised." Wrong. He promised he would save her; this something different. "The worst is over." No, it was still to come. "No one should have to go through what you have. Soon, you'll never suffer again." He finally told her the truth, but it felt empty, disappointing.
Agnes nodded and laughed wetly, gripping his hand in a vice.
As AIDA fastened the head gear, Holden took another moment to study his love.
Her cardigan was somewhere between red and orange, her white blouse sprinkled with tiny blue, green, and red flowers. The silver and white ring hanging from her neck sparkles in the light of the submarine, as did her blue earrings.
Holden stepped in front of her. "Are you ready for a better world?" A world where we will never be plagued by this grief? A world where the mistakes I made would never have happened? A world where I didn't leave you--a world where I never had a reason to leave you? The secondary questions went unspoken, but she could hear them. Are you ready for a world where our love will never be on a timer?
Agnes nodded, her chest heaving. Holden stared into her eyes, her beautiful eyes, a sparkling brown that should never be shining with tears the way they were in that moment. Her eyes were so magnificent--they were the first things he had ever truly seen, the only thing he ever wanted to look at. Her eyes were the beginning and end of the universe, the very definition of beauty, the gateway to heaven.
Her head fell back, and here eyes closed. And with them, it seemed all the stars in the universe vanished. Holden let himself look away, let his lip quiver.
My beloved Agnes, he thought, I will be with you again soon. I will never leave you again.
And he didn't. Holden stayed by Agnes' side for hours, holding the delicate hands he never wanted to let go of. His world already felt so dull, so bland, even though she was right next to him. Agnes was dying, and the universe knew it.
Holden didn't know what Agnes was doing in her new life, but he hoped she was happy. Maybe she was decorating their house, or reading her favorite, or wandering through a museum filled with all her favorite pieces. Whatever she was doing, wherever she was, Holden hoped she was waiting for him.
"There is nothing we can do to sustain her in this life." AIDA spoke above the beeping of the heart monitor, too few and too far between.
Holden swallowed the lump in his throat and slowly, gently, brought Agnes' hand up to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, eyes shut against the cruel world that would take his beloved away from him.
The deafening flatline was a death sentence, Holdens personal damnation to Hell.
He choked in a breath. "It doesn't matter." He held her hand tighter, squeezed his eyes tighter. He couldn't bear to see the world without color, a dull world that would prove she would never truly feel anything ever again. "In the Framework, her consciousness will live forever."
Holden forced his eyes open.
A sob tore through his throat.
Her cardigan was grey, her blouse was white, speckled with different shades of grey in the shapes of flowers. Her skin had lost all warmth, her hair was the color of a storm cloud. He was glad he couldn't see the eyes he adored, for he didn't know what he would do if he had to see the things that gave him a purpose extinguished.
He had fulfilled his purpose, hadn't he?
Success never felt so heart wrenching.
He wanted to see her--needed, beyond food, drink, sleep, sanity, to see Agnes. More than anything, Holden wanted to cram his head into the sensors and enter the only place in the universe he could find happiness anymore. But he couldn't.
He feared what he would see. Would he see Agnes, the love of his life, in all her glorious beauty? Would he see her soft brown hair? Would he be able to count the specks of gold in her eyes?
Just hearing her voice would be enough, but Holden was a terrible, greedy man. He wanted everything to be perfect. He wanted to see her. He wanted to feel the giddy happiness he had felt the moment he had laid his eyes on her, he wanted to feel the stars align, he wanted to feel lighter than air, a high that no drug could supply. He wanted to see color.
Agnes would see color. He made sure of it. He would not make a world where she couldn't indulge in the simple joy of looking at art.
After hours of treacherous stalling, Holden bit the bullet.
He didn't look AIDA in the eyes as she hooked him up to the Framework. She wasn't his Agnes, but they had the same eyes. Holden couldn't look into her eyes without feeling like he failed.
The grey world around him faded to black, and Holden had never felt such a mix of fear and excitement in his life.
- - -
His eyes opened in lazy blinks, his hand twitched from sleep, and he felt a deep, peaceful calm that he hadn't in years.
It took him a second to register the pale green walls, or the yellow sunlight filtering through an open window. Holden sat up with a soft gasp. It worked.
"Agnes?" His voice sounded desperate, yet hopeful.
"Yes, Holden?" Her accented voice held a smile, content at happy. She was just beyond a wall.
Holden rushed through an open door and stopped.
Agnes Kitsworth smiled at him from her breakfast nook overlooking whatever city they were in. He felt his insides burning with the pure, transcendent joy at seeing her, really seeing her, like the first time in his life.
Holden slowly approached and sat in the nook to face her. He reached out and cupped her face in his hand.
Agnes leaned into his touch with a soft smile. "Everything alright, Holden?"
He smiled. It had been so long since he had smiled like this. "Everything is perfect."
The flowers on her dress were purple, red, and yellow, the sky outside was bluer than any ocean or lake could ever hope to be. And her eyes--oh, her eyes! They shimmered in the afternoon sun, brighter than any light, warmer than any sun, the universe dimmed in comparison.
Holdens hand drifted from her face to her back. He pulled her in and hugged her, felt her hair against his face, softer than silk. "Everything is perfect." He repeated when her arms wrapped around him in return.
He felt Agnes smile, and he pressed his face into her neck.
"Everything is perfect."
Everything is perfect, in a world where we will never run out of time.
#agents of shield#high class writing#kitscliffe#holden radcliffe#agnes kitsworth#aida#omg wow i did it#i had one conversation with alex and made this#for alex <3
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Snow Day
Summary: After a particularly rough day, Domino isn’t in the best mood. Fortunately, Steelbeak knows just the thing to cheer him up- all he needs is a nice day and some of his partner’s favorite weather.
Notes: This was a holiday gift for @thefriendlyfour and I hope you all enjoy it as well ^.^ As always, Domino (as well as Steelbeak’s outfit design) belongs to the ever amazing @thefriendlyfour / @eleanorose123 (though I think Domino’s winter outfit in this one was originally designed by @akysi ), so make sure you go check out their work as well! =^.^=
There were many things to like about the city of St. Canard: Exciting night life. Great views of the bay. A diverse ecosystem in and around the town. Plenty of places to eat, shop, and steal from. A resident super-hero (though that being likable was subjective). A prison with terrible security for easy escape (again, subjective).
The weather, Dominic thought, was decidedly not one of the things to like about St. Canard.
The loon and his partner, Steelbeak, had just endured an all-day mission for FOWL that involved driving all over the city in temperatures just short of freezing. Normally, the red-eyed bird enjoyed colder weather- winter was his favorite season, after all. Today, however, had been that uncomfortable kind of cold where it seemed fine at first but, over time, made you regret not choosing a warmer coat when you left (they’d both made that mistake, and had relied on his car’s heater to thaw themselves out every time they were done at one location) that only got worse when the clouds decided to precipitate just enough for it to be misty but not enough to snow, resulting in the clammy kind of cold that seeped into their clothes and had them shivering every time they stayed outside just a little too long.
Everything culminated in a showdown with Darkwing Duck at the bay where the two top-ranking agents attempted to use FOWL’s newest device, the “PRESSURIZER”, to drain all of the water and use it as an extremely dangerous high-pressure water canon to extort the town’s residents and government for billions. They had been so close to victory…until that infuriating little red headed girl that always trailed along behind the city’s protector used a hockey stick to launch a wrench that Darkwing’s (admittedly attractive) sidekick had on him in an impressive ricochet shot that perfectly hit the “self-destruct” button (Steelbeak would later swear to pay a visit to the scientist responsible for that little feature) on the console right between the two fowls. Had the resulting blast not sent the pair plummeting into Audubon Bay, Dominic would have been inclined to comment on the child making such an impressive and difficult shot so easily.
As it stood, however, he wasn’t in any hurry to congratulate the one responsible for submerging him and his partner in a bay that was one step above freezing.
Once the deadly duo had dragged themselves up from the ocean’s chilling depths, they made a hasty retreat to Dominic’s car and sped off just in time to avoid the police. While they’d avoided any major injuries (bumps, bruises, scrapes, and singed feathers were par for the course when it came to their line of work), the two agents ended the day feeling exhausted, frustrated, soaked to the bone, shivering like they were trying to avoid hypothermia (which may not have been far from the truth). Oh, and let’s not forget the cherry on top of this wonderful day- Dominic’s car now absolutely reeked of sea water from the two having to sit in it without having time to dry off or change their clothes.
By the time they got home, showered, and changed, it was late and neither man was in a particularly good mood. Both of them just wanted a few days to unwind before having to deal with anymore insanity. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?
Well, apparently it was.
No sooner had the two gotten settled on opposite ends of Steelbeak’s couch, fully intent on relaxing before dinner, than the large screen across the room flickered to life on its own. Dominic held back a frustrated groan and could hear a barely muffled sound of displeasure from the lighter bird across from him.
The images on the screen came into focus and three familiar silhouetted figures appeared on it, the one seated in the middle doing the talking as per usual. “Chief Officer Steelbeak, agent Domino, we have a new mission for you.”
Dominic ignored the muttered “gimme a break” from his right, though he certainly agreed with the sentiment wholeheartedly. “When do we start?”
Both agents groaned internally at their leader’s rather curt reply. “First thing in the morning at 8:00 sharp.”
He went on to explain the details of their mission, but Dominic was only idly absorbing the information (they’d be given proper instructions in the morning). What the loon got from High Command’s summarized description was that the science department had developed some sort of large egg-shaped sun-blocking device that would create a false eclipse. While the citizens of Calisota were panicking over the false eclipse, FOWL would be taking advantage of the chaos to rob multiple high-value targets at once ranging from museums to laboratories.
Apparently this all had to be done tomorrow, as it was the only day of the coming weeks predicted to have a substantial amount of sunlight for the device’s deployment to make a significant impact.
Although Steelbeak seemed just as thrilled (maybe even less so) than his partner, the lighter FOWL managed a convincingly neutral acceptance of their orders. “Sure thing. We’ll be up an’ waitin’ for the call.”
After receiving a similar acknowledgement from Dominic, the screen went dark once more.
With no more eyes on them (at least, they were fairly certain there were none, it was hard to tell sometimes whether or not with that thing..), the chief officer and his partner finally vocalized their displeasure- Dominic with a frustrated sigh and Steelbeak with an irritated groan.
“No rest for the wicked, it seems.” The loon shook his head, not bothering to hide his scowl anymore. “You’d think we’d get at least ONE day off after what they just put us through…”
Steelbeak rolled his eyes, his scowl matching the darker bird’s. “That’s the problem with those ‘workin’ behind the shadow’ types- they get t’ sit around all day tellin’ everyone else what t’ do an’ forget how exhaustin’ it is bein’ a field agent……like t’ see ‘em try runnin’ ‘round all day an’ deal with stupid heroes shootin’ junk at ‘em…” The last sentence was muttered disdainfully, but was certainly not lost on the other man.
“Now that is something I’d pay to see.” Dominic sighed, leaning back on the couch and closing his eyes. Might as well relax while he could, seeing as he’d have to head straight to bed after dinner to make sure he had enough energy for tomorrow. “That or some bad weather…I’d actually pay for it if it meant having a day off.”
With his own eyes closed, the loon missed the look of realization that appeared in the lighter fowl’s dark eyes….and the devious smirk that soon followed…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A loud, rather irritating ringing woke Dominic up from his slumber. Rolling onto his side with one red eye barely open to peer at his bedside clock and the covered window across the room, he was further irritated by the fact that it was too early for his alarm to go off- it was only half past five and he’d been hoping to rest until at least seven. The ringing, he soon realized, was coming from his phone rather than his alarm clock.
While he was very tempted to simply ignore whoever thought it was okay to call him before the sun was even starting to rise, the half-awake loon recognized the ring tone and, resignedly, answered it.
Just because he deemed the one calling him worthy of being answered, however, didn’t mean he was pleased by the literal wake-up call. “Steelbeak..you have five seconds to convince me not to go next door and smother you to death with one of your tacky pillows..”
That distinctive laugh could be heard through the receiver, sounding far more awake than anyone had any business being at this time of day. “Well, good mornin’ t’ you too, sunshine.” Before Dominic had a chance to protest the mocking nickname or threaten to hang up, the much more awake fowl continued speaking, this time in a slightly more serious tone. “Get up an’ get dressed, we’re leavin’ in fifteen. Don’t worry ‘bout breakfast, I’ve got ya covered.”
Well that certainly helped wake him up. Rubbing his eyes with his free hand, Dominic sat up and stretched his legs to help get his body on the same page as his mind. “What happened? Did High Command call and change the time?”
“Don’t worry ‘bout it, it’s not that big of a deal. Just get dressed an’ meet me in the hall.” Just before he hung up, Steelbeak added one more thing as an afterthought. “Oh, an’ wear somethin’ warm- warmest ya got.”
Looking down at the phone in his hand once the dial tone began to play, Dominic was left with more questions than answers. Had the temperature gone down further since yesterday? Had something come up that changed High Command’s plans? Why was Steelbeak so awake and aware of what was going on?
Despite the many questions floating through his now-awake brain, Dominic did as his partner instructed and got ready for the day. Once his feathers were straightened properly, the loon opened his closet and moved aside his usual outfits for a much warmer one that he typically reserved for the coldest time of the year: A white coat with both light and dark blue accents, a belt-like clasp, a blue and white snowflake emblem on the bottom above the fluffy white trim, and even kept the aesthetic of his usual outfit by placing white buttons in a domino-like pattern over the blue squares of fabric on his torso. The coat had matching white gloves, blue and white boots, a white scarf with a snowflake emblem like the one on the bottom of his coat that was currently tucked into his collar to help him stay warm, and a white pork-pie style hat (he would never understand why people named clothing styles such ridiculous things, but the hat was comfortable) with a light blue hat band and two blue dots to match the coat’s motif.
By the time he left his apartment, Steelbeak was waiting in the hall for him with two thermoses of coffee. The taller man was also dressed in a different outfit than usual, but sharp red eyes could still see the edge of a white sleeve under the hem of the rooster’s long dark red coat that was zipped up all the way to the top, the brown fur-lined hood resting on his shoulders. While his pants were black like usual, they were thicker and reminded the loon of ski pants. The black gloves and dark red sunburst style boots (again, who chooses these names?) lined with fur that matched his hood completed the look.
Holding out one thermos for the darker bird to take, Steelbeak took a sip of coffee from his own and gave his partner a knowing grin. “Took ya long enough. C’mon, we gotta get goin’ ‘fore it gets too late.”
Dominic gladly took the thermos and its energy-granting contents, pleased as always to find it prepared exactly how he liked it- today’s batch even had traces of peppermint, which brought a small smile to the loon’s dark beak before he followed the rooster to the elevator at the end of the hallway. “Too late for what, exactly? The sun shouldn’t be up for another two hours.” He still had plenty of questions that had yet to be answered.
“Exactly.” A black-gloved finger pressed the button for the elevator, its owner smiling over the minor victory of the doors opening immediately rather than having to wait for them. “That’s why we gotta be back before then in case High Command calls.”
“Wait..” Dominic followed the taller man into the elevator, but made his confusion over their early departure transparently clear. “If High Command hasn’t called yet, then why are we leaving?”
The loon’s answer was that same knowing grin from before- the one that both frustrated him for being out of the loop regarding whatever was going on but also intrigued him because Steelbeak didn’t normally keep secrets (at least, not from HIM) for very long and usually shared whatever juicy bit of information or despicable plan was rattling around in his devious brain. “All you need t’ know is that it’s VERY important an’ you’re gonna be glad we left early. Trust me.” Well THAT just left the shorter bird with even MORE questions. Unfortunately, any further inquiries were put on hold once the elevator doors opened again and the duo stepped out into the parking garage. “We’re takin’ my car ‘til yours stops smellin’ like a mermaid’s bedroom.”
Dominic had no problems with that and willingly followed the other fowl to his overly flashy car- he wasn’t really in the mood to drive and probably wouldn’t be until he’d gotten through his first coffee. “Do I even want to ask how you know what that would smell like?”
“I’ve been ‘round the block a few times. Let’s just hope we don’t get any missions in the south pacific anytime soon.” Steelbeak’s chuckle made it hard to tell if he was joking or not, a typical part of his sense of humor that Dominic had gotten used to over the past five months of their relationship. He made a mental note to ask about the alleged mermaid encounter another time while the two of them got settled into their seats. “Put this on.”
Looking up from buckling his seatbelt, red eyes widened in mild disbelief when he saw the fabric being presented to him. “A blindfold?” Thinking he’d perhaps jumped to conclusions too soon, Dominic looked over the long strip of black silk with a gaudy pink heart pattern once again, but, no, it was definitely a blindfold, albeit a rather tacky one that made half of his mind want to ask why the other man had something like that in his possession…and the other half had a feeling it already knew... “Why-”
“I’m aductin’ ya.” The taller fowl jokingly said with that infuriatingly intriguing grin. “But you’re gonna love it, trust me.”
Red eyes rolled in feigned annoyance as Dominic took the blindfold with his free hand, but didn’t make any moves to put it on just yet. “And why, exactly, should I ‘trust you’ and impair my vision after you’ve admitted to abducting me?”
“ ‘cause you’d still kick my butt, even if ya couldn’t see it.” Well, yes, that was definitely true…and this was Steelbeak he was dealing with- the man hadn’t given him any reason not to trust him sine they’d started going out…
……
…………
“….Fine..” Setting his coffee down momentarily, Dominic tied the tacky silk over his eyes and leaned back in the passenger’s seat once he had the thermos back in his hands. “If you try anything, you’re hand is going straight into the bay…without the rest of you going in after it.”
Though he could no longer see it, the loon could easily hear the smirk in the metal-mouthed fowl’s voice as the car rumbled to life around him. “Wouldn’t dream of it, short-fuse.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was hard to tell how long they’d been driving with his vision obstructed, but Dominic had finished his coffee by the time he felt the car shut off. “Can I take this ridiculous thing off yet?”
There was a beat of silence, as if the vehicle’s other occupant was giving the question serious thought. “Hmmm…yeah, I guess so..” Before the white gloved fingers could start on the knot, however, an addendum was added to the previous comment. “But don’t open your eyes.”
Even with his eyes covered, Dominic hoped that the glare he was sending the other bird’s direction would still be noticeable. “I hope you know my patience is wearing thin. You’d better have a good reason for waking me up before dawn, dragging me out of bed, and taking me on a joyride without giving me ANY-”
“I’ve got a good reason. I promise.” Steelbeak’s voice was resolute. His tone betrayed no signs of mischief or ill intent, not that Dominic really expected there to be any, but it was still somewhat reassuring to hear it, anyway... “You’re just..gonna have t’ trust me on this one, Deedee.”
Dominic was prepared to argue the point, or simply take the blindfold off and be done with the whole charade (yesterday’s disasters combined with his unexpected awakening didn’t have him in the best of moods)……but that pause in Steelbeak’s last sentence gave him pause, as well.
The larger man didn’t sound as confident as he had leading up to this point. He sounded almost…hesitant? Uncertain? It was hard to say. Either way, it sounded more like he was asking for Dominic to trust him, rather than demanding it, but it was almost as if he wasn’t sure he’d be given such a thing…
“……” Taking in a very slow, deliberate breath before exhaling it in equal measure, the white gloved fingers finally began their task of untying the blindfold. “Fine.” Once the silk was gone, red eyes remained firmly shut. “But my earlier statement still stands.”
He heard a brief chuckle, but this one sounded relieved rather than amused. “Don’t worry, you’ll like this, I promise.” The car door on his left opened and shut, followed by a minute of silence before his own door opened. He felt a light tug on the blindfold still being clutched in his hand. “This way.”
Dominic followed his partner’s lead out of the vehicle, hearing the door close behind him once he was far enough away. He heard a brief click afterwards, as if something had been opened, but couldn’t tell what it was. As he was lead further away from the car, he noticed an odd sound and sensation below his boots- the ground beneath him was…crunchy? That was the only way he could think to describe it- crunchy in sound and loose in texture. “Where exactly are we?” He thought for a moment they were at the beach, but the sand there wouldn’t make this sort of noise. It…kind of felt like-
There was a creaking sound, like something heavy and metallic being pushed open. “Why don’t ya open up those pretty red eyes of yours an’ see for yourself?”
Taking the other man’s advice and doing so, Dominic’s red eyes finally opened for the first time since he’d gotten into the car with his partner, and what he saw momentarily took his breath away before it was exhaled in a visible puff.
The two fowls were standing just inside the gates of the very same park they went to during their first date. While it was still dark out with only the dim lighting of the street lamps providing any visibility, there was one very noticeable difference this time:
Snow.
Every inch of the park- and the city as a whole, it seemed- was covered in a thick blanket of snow. The park’s grassy fields had been completely buried under the fluffy white precipitation, as had the walking trails and sidewalks in and around the park. The trees and other shrubbery resembled cotton balls with how thoroughly their foliage had been coated, and in the distance Dominic could even see that the lake had frozen over. There were already so many of the beautifully cold flakes scattered about, and even more still falling from the thick, dark clouds above that showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.
Curious as to how he hadn’t felt the falling snow sooner, the loon’s red eyes drifted up and finally took notice of the large black and white striped umbrella above him. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw his partner watching him with an amused yet fond smile while holding the umbrella with his free hand.
The expression brought a slight flush to the darker bird’s cheeks that, even if it were noticeable, he’d blame on the cold if he was ever called out for it. “H-How-” He had even more questions now than before he’d gotten in the car, and, downplaying the slight stutter to his speech by clearing his throat and pretending it was just a dry throat from the cold air, he was intent on finally receiving some answers. “How is this possible? The reports all said it was supposed to be sunny today.”
Steelbeak shrugged one shoulder, the grin on his gleaming beak betraying the words that left it. “Y’know how unpredictable the weather is ‘round here…‘specially with all the supervillains runnin’ ‘round changin’ things just ‘cause they feel like it.” Apparently deciding the umbrella was no longer needed after the big reveal of his surprise, Steelbeak closed it and set it by the park gate. “Or, y’know, if someone offers ‘em a few million big ones t’ start a snowstorm and ‘suggests’ a few choice places t’ hit up an’ keep any annoyin’ superheroes busy.”
Dominic followed the lighter bird as he ventured deeper into the park, giving him a curious look accompanied by a quirked brow. “If you made all of this happen, then why was it so important to get out here this early? We could’ve waited until the sun was up.”
Hands now resting comfortably in the pockets of his coat, Steelbeak gave another calm shrug. “I dunno ‘bout you, but I don’t exactly trust the ‘freaky four’ t’ practice things like restraint.” Dark eyes glanced up at the thick clouds and the still plentiful amount of snow falling down on the city below. “At the rate this stuff’s fallin’, I figure we got about three hours before the snow drifts get taller than you…short fuse.” He side-eyed the loon with a smirk. Red eyes rolled as Dominic shook his head, choosing to ignore the jab at his height compared to his monumentally tall partner. (Honestly, though, who didn’t seem short compared to him?) “And..” The loon’s attention returned to the other fowl when he heard the slightly softer, less sef-assured tone in Steelbeak’s voice. Steelbeak was glancing away now, a bit of red visible beneath his off-white cheek feathers. “I..know ya love this stuff…figured you’d wanna come out an’ have some fun before the whole town gets snowed in…plus there’d be no one out this early, less people around an’ all that…”
It was once again Dominic’s turn to blush. Any irritation he’d felt from his unplanned awakening was forgotten almost instantly. Now that he had a chance to look at- really look at- his partner, he noticed the things he’d missed earlier in the chaotic whirlwind of events leading up to this point: His feathers had clearly not been preened since his shower the previous night. His comb wasn’t standing up quite as straight as it usually did. His eyes were bloodshot, albeit only slightly- he must’ve taken eye drops at some point to hide it. His eyes also had dark circles under them that indicated-
“You didn’t sleep last night.” Although the red-eyed fowl was truly touched by how much thought Steelbeak put into all of this, he still couldn’t help but ask- “Why?” He elaborated further when he was met with a confused look from the taller bird. “Why go to all this trouble?”
The question made a grin appear once more on the metal-mouthed rooster’s beak. “C’mon, stripes, between the two of us, YOU’RE the one that actually WENT t’ school.” He chuckled, the grin on his face practically beaming. “Thought you’d know what a ‘snow day’ was.”
“A..snow day?” Wow, that was a term Dominic hadn’t heard since his school days.
“Ding, ding! Startin’ t’ ring any bells yet, wise guy?” Steelbeak teased as the pair walked over the park’s snowy trail (or at least what one could assume to be since it was slightly lower than the ground around it). Once he’d had his laugh, though, the rooster’s grin softened into something calmer. “High Command needed a sunny day t’ make their plan work- no sun, no stupid eight AM mission, so we get the day off. Plus, even if High Command decides they wanna try somethin’ else, they’re gonna need time t’ come up with a new plan an’ send a helicopter t’ pick us up since the streets’ll be too buried t’ drive by then, so we get plenty of time t’ relax an’ enjoy breakfast when we get back.” One dark gray eye winked down at the loon playfully. “Sounds like a win-win, if ya ask me.”
Darn, that grin was infectious. “A win-win indeed.” Dominic’s own dark beak soon lit up with a smile as he nodded in wholehearted agreement. He had to give credit where it was due- that was a very well thought out and expertly executed plan. “I have to say, I’m impressed you came up with all of this so quickly.”
“Hey, I didn’t get t’ be Chief Officer just ‘cause of my good looks- there’s a pretty big brain behind this gorgeous mug.” Ah, and there was that cocky grin and wink followed by the exaggeratedly “flirtatious” eyebrow wiggle that never failed to make the loon laugh.
“I’ll have to keep that in mind.” Dominic wasn’t sure how, but he managed to get the whole sentence out with only a few quiet, barely restrained chuckles slipping in. If there was one thing that Steelbeak knew how to do, it was make his partner smile and laugh and feel a hundred times lighter than he had before.
After the misery of the previous day, Dominic decided, he’d gladly take this much more pleasant alternative.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The deadly duo spent a while simply walking around and admiring the fresh-fallen, undisturbed beauty of the snow covered park. It felt so much like their first date- the two of them just walking around, conversing freely, enjoying one another’s company without anyone around to bother them; he’d even talked Steelbeak into ice skating with him over the frozen lake and was pleased to see that the rooster’s balance had improved considerably, only needing to be helped up a handful of times.
While it felt similar, though, it also felt like a completely different experience altogether. Back then, they’d still been getting to know each other, getting used to one another. Now, they were still learning things about each other, but there was a greater feeling of familiarity, as well as a sense of comfort that came from that familiarity. There were still boundaries they were discovering and learning how to work around, but it was leaps and bounds from where they were before that night almost half a year ago.
As he passed beneath a tree off of the park trail, Dominic’s musing on his relationship with his partner was stopped by a sudden clump of snow falling onto his hat.
He tipped his head back, looking up at the glistening branches curiously and allowing the frozen flakes still resting on his hat to fall off. Well, the tree WAS heavily coated with snow and ice, a stray breeze could have-
Another clump of snow, this one rounder and more firmly packed, descended at a slight curve- as if it had been thrown from somewhere behind him- towards him and hit the surprised loon in the face before he had time to move away. “!!” Brushing the snow from his eyes, he looked back over his shoulder at the only other person in the park. “I saw that..”
Steelbeak, who’d stopped a few feet away from the tree to kneel down and adjust one of his boots, gave the loon a slightly raised brow and his best attempt at an earnestly confused expression. “Saw what?” His attempt at faking innocence would have been much more effective if it wasn’t clear that he was holding back a smile and that one of his gloves still had snow on it.
Oh, so he wanted to play games, huh? Fine. Dominic could play, too. “Nevermind…must have been my imagination…”
Stepping closer to the tree, one of the loon’s hands was freed from its glove- his back to the rooster as he walked around the base to keep it out of his sight. After slipping the glove into his pocket, his still-gloved fingers trailed along the snow-covered tree. From an outside perspective, it would look like he was idly tracing simple patterns into the powdery snow of the trunk. In reality, however, he was readying his ammunition. By the time there was enough snow accumulated in his covered palm, Dominic had reached the other side of the tree and was able to quickly transfer it into his other hand without being noticed. A quick packing between both hands and the sharpshooter had his weapon locked and loaded.
When he suddenly made a sharp turn and jumped back out the way he came, Dominic was not at all surprised to see Steelbeak waiting with another sizable clump of snow in his hands, clearly prepared to throw it at the other side of the large tree with his hands raised over his head.
Steelbeak, on the other hand, was very surprised to see the loon doubling back and catching him in the act. So surprised, in fact, that he didn’t have time to dodge the snowball that was sent hurtling towards him. “!!!” The snowball found its target’s face, causing said target to let out a startled squawk from literally going snow-blind. The whole ordeal made his hands move just enough to turn his own weapon against him, the clump of snow that was once above him now falling all over his head and torso. “Hey, no fair! Cheap shot!”
Dominic smirked at the prone rooster, quickly forming more ammunition and ducking behind the tree for cover while his “enemy” was busy shaking and wiping snow off of himself. “I was merely returning the favor- now we’re even.”
With his vision restored and most of the snow removed, Steelbeak smirked as well and readied another oversized snowball. “Well, it ain’t gonna stay that way for long.”
And with that, the war had begun. The entire park quickly became a battleground as two expertly trained secret agents crafted and launched their handmade weapons at one another.
Dominic had the clear advantage- snow was his favorite weather and he was truly in his element. The aquatic fowl was able to quickly craft practically perfect spheres from the terrain around him and throw them with pin-point accuracy. The tree he’d stationed himself behind made for good cover between shots, allowing him to safely stockpile ammunition and retreat when he was under heavy fire. From time to time, he’d dart out and weave between the surrounding foliage to fire off multiple shots and even slid across the lake a few times to stay ahead of his adversary.
Steelbeak, on the other hand, was clearly not as used to interacting with the frozen liquids he attempted to wield. The metal mouthed fowl didn’t have the finesse (or apparently the knowledge to take off his gloves and use the heat of his hands to melt the dry flakes) to craft small snowballs, and instead scooped up large quantities of the loose powder and form what could only be described as “snow cannonballs”. These larger projectiles took more time to make and weren’t as precise as his quick-footed and quick-witted rival’s smaller spheres, but they were capable of devastating damage when they managed to hit and knocked the slippery sharpshooter off of his feet more than once.
The battle raged for longer than either combatant cared to keep track of, the once pristine park now full of holes and gashes from their wintery war. The two snow covered fowls laughed and shot comebacks at one another along with their projectiles. It was certainly a sight to behold- a duo of deadly spies who carried out assassinations and mass slaughters of enemies on a regular basis now using their battle skills and instincts to throw balls of snow at each other with the excitement of school children. If anyone from work- be it an eggman, fellow agent, or Darkwing Duck himself- were to see the well-known chief officer of FOWL and his normally stern, red-eyed-glare wielding partner and tell others what they’d witnessed, chances were that no one would ever believe them.
Dominic himself could hardly believe it, but he was having far too much fun to stop. Retreating back to the trunk of his chosen shelter, the loon managed to hit Steelbeak’s large and vibrant tail feathers with his last snowball before working rapidly to replenish his supply.
“Yeow!” Steelbeak yelped from the packed precipitation striking his perfectly plumaged posterior. “Ohh, you’re gonna get it for that one!”
From his hiding spot, Dominic could hear the larger bird making another of his plus-sized snowballs. “We’ll see about that!” He parroted the other man’s earlier words over his shoulder while topping off his ammo cache. Confident he could dodge whatever size the lighter fowl’s newest snow monstrosity happened to be, Dominic left his makeshift fort and prepared to fire off his more manageable artillery.
His confidence was immediately shaken by the small-boulder sized chunk of snow hitting his face with enough force to send him toppling into a deep snow bank.
It took a minute for Dominic’s world to stop spinning, and a few more seconds for his senses to return enough to realize that the hazy white blur he saw was snow piled around his head and (thankfully) not spotty vision caused by a concussion. As he sat up, the loon shook the snow off of himself, needing to retrieve his nearly camouflaged hat from the white mound.
His attention was soon stolen, however, by the menacing shadow that was cast over him. Looking up, red eyes widened at the sight of his opponent holding an absolutely MASSIVE chunk of snow even larger than the last one over his head with a smirk. “Any last words, wise guy?”
Hands planting themselves against the ground behind him in preparation to run or fight back, Dominic’s gaze darted rapidly around his surroundings. There had to be a way out of this!
Then, he found it- his bare hand touching something textured and rough hidden within the snow. Looking back up at the tree above them, a plan at last formed in the clever fowl’s fiendish mind. He’d only have one shot at this…
Gripping the object he’d found, Dominic smirked while making eye contact with the unaware rooster. “Yes…but would it be in bad taste to say ‘freeze’?” Without any further explanation, the loon’s bare hand emerged from its hiding place in the snow to briefly reveal the stick it was clutching before throwing it at a sharp angle that just barely missed the other fowl’s head.
“What the-?!” Steelbeak, at first thinking the projectile was meant for him, instinctively ducked to avoid it, nearly dropping the colossal cold-ball clutched in his hands. Thinking himself safe, he smirked back down at the presumed-defenseless loon beneath him. “Your aim’s slippin’, Deedee- ya missed.”
“Oh, I don’t miss.” The darker bird replied with a wicked smirk before putting his weight back onto his arms and rolling the extra foot he needed to avoid what was about to happen.
Following the other man’s red-eyed gaze up to the tree he was still standing beneath, Steelbeak’s own dark eyes widened at the sight of the stick Dominic had thrown striking the completely-snow-covered top of the tree. By now, there was so much of the frozen precipitation accumulated on its branches that it looked nearly twice its normal size. This made the realization of what was about to happen all the more chilling- in more than just the literal sense.
“Hmph…well played, stripes..” Was all Steelbeak could get out before the domino effect came into play. The disturbed snow on top of the tree fell, falling into and shaking the snow on the next branch. This pattern cascaded down through every level of the tree, resulting in a miniature avalanche that left the large fowl buried under an even larger mound of snow before he had time to run away.
The backdraft of air and snow was strong enough that Dominic had to shield his eyes with his gloved hand, holding onto his hat with the other to keep it from blowing away. Peeking out once the air had settled, a pleased smirk found its way to the loon’s beak as he observed his handiwork: The entire base of the tree and a good portion of the trunk were now buried in snow. Where his opponent once stood was crumpled lump in the mound of white flakes with no sign he was alive other than the single black-gloved hand sticking straight up like a flag- one of surrender, the loon mused jokingly.
Deciding it would be best for everyone if the taller man didn’t catch hypothermia or pneumonia, Dominic figured it would be best to show mercy for once and dig his fallen adversary out of his precipitated prison. Dawning his second glove once again, white-covered hands made short work of shoveling the equally white powder away from the lump beneath the extended black glove. After a minute or two, he found a gleaming metal beak within the snow, and soon the rest of the head attached to it became visible.
Dark grey eyes blinked the world into focus as their owner looked up dramatically. “Wow, think I finally found the light at the end of the tunnel.” The same eyes glanced over at his rescuer, the corner of his mouth lifting into a small smirk. “Gotta say, you’re not quite what I expected an angel t’ look like……but I ain’t complainin’.”
Dominic returned the look in kind and winked down at the still partially buried man beneath him. “Keep it up and I’ll send you to heaven my way.” A quiet laugh shook the smaller bird’s shoulders as he shook his head with an undeniably fond smile. “While I do admire your ability to flirt while half frozen, frostbite isn’t exactly charming- let’s get you out of there, shall we?”
With a quiet chuckle of his own, Steelbeak started sitting up to extricate himself from his icy prison. “Yeah, probably for the best..think I feel my tail feathers freezin’ o-” He froze (not literally for now), eyes blinking in surprise as they looked from the loon’s face down to his own hand that was still sticking out of the snow.
Clasped firmly around the rooster’s large black-gloved hand was a smaller one clad in white.
Dominic knew what the other’s look was about and why the normally talkative man had gone uncharacteristically silent. “It’s fine.” He offered with a small but reassuring smile before digging his heels into the snow and pulling the other man back up onto his feet.
Once he was back to his usual towering six and half foot (seven if his comb was counted) height, Steelbeak looked down at the hand still clasped around his own with an expression somewhere between elated and nervous. “So…am I ‘bout t’ go swimmin’ in the bay after that..?”
Dominic shook his head, giving the larger palm in his own a light squeeze for reassurance. “Not this time. I want to keep it around for now.”
The nervousness left the lighter fowl’s expression, leaving him with a smile that tried its best to look calm but was undermined by the excited gleam in his dark eyes. “Keep it for as long as ya want, red eyes.”
“I think I’ll take you up on that offer.” The loon gave a softer smile, two sets of fingers in contrasting colors lacing and locking together as if it were their natural state.
Steelbeak, as well as many other individuals within FOWL, were well aware of Dominic’s “quirk”, as High Command liked to call it. After witnessing the loon lose it more than once on some poor, unsuspecting fool that made the innocent mistake of putting their hand on the touch-triggered bird the wrong way, the chief officer had made it a mental priority to always be mindful of his partner’s contact-based aggression and avoid touching him without warning, even after they’d started dating. He never made any “moves” on the darker fowl like he would with the girls he’d “dated” in the past- no sneaky arm finding its way around an unaware shoulder or waist, no sudden brush of fingers along the side of a striped neck, or even a suave attempt to steal a kiss. The rooster had a front-row seat to multiple showings of what the shorter man could do when someone didn’t properly respect his personal space, and he was determined to never be anything more than an observer if he could help it. He’d only taken what he was given and never even made a move to hold the aquatic avian’s hand.
While Dominic was definitely grateful for Steelbeak’s cautious-patience and respect for his boundaries, he felt the taller man fretted a bit too much about it from time to time. They’d been together for months now, seen each other through countless moments both life-threateningly dangerous and calmingly domestic. At this point, out of everyone in his life, his partner was the one person he felt the most confident that he wouldn’t hurt with one of his violent outbursts.
The discomfort would always be there in the back of his mind, Dominic knew this from the time he’d spent with his last partner and the others he’d dated before, but it was worth it for the warm feeling that bloomed within him. The contact was diluted by both of their gloves, allowing him to feel and familiarize himself with the sensation of Steelbeak’s palm and fingers against his own without letting the discomfort build up too much. He knew he would want more soon, and he could tell from the longing looks he’d caught when the rooster let his guard down from time to time that Steelbeak wanted it as well, but, right here, right now, it was enough for both of them to stand in the snow together with their fingers entwined.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The pair of snow-covered agents arrived back home just in the nick of time, giving themselves about fifteen minutes to change out of their winter attire, rid themselves of any traces of their pre-dawn excursion, and throw their usual coats on over top of more casual clothes to give off the image of readiness. They staged themselves in Steelbeak’s living room, acting like they were about to leave just in time for the communication screen to turn itself on.
“Chief Officer Steelbeak, Agent Domino.” The usual speaking member of High Command looked less than pleased. “There’s been a change of plans.”
Dominic, doing an excellent job of feigning ignorance, looked at his leader with a confused expression, one brow raised inquisitively. “Why? Did something happen to the device?” From the corner of his eye, he caught Steelbeak trying not to smirk and barely succeeding.
The silhouetted person shook his head with a scowl. “The Fearsome Four decided to bury the entire state in a snow storm. The mission is cancelled for now, but be ready in case the weather changes.”
Receiving a “Yes, sir” from both agents, the screen went dark once more.
Steelbeak gave his partner a knowing smirk. “Somethin’ tells me this storm ain’t stoppin’ for a while. How ‘bout we get nice an’ comfy ‘til then?”
Dominic gave a knowing smirk of his own. “Of course- we’ll need to save our strength for when it clears.”
There was a beat of silence before both of their expressions melted into amused grins and they laughed quietly over their flawless performance. The pair took off their coats and hung them on Steelbeak’s coat rack to enjoy their more comfortable attire- Dominic wearing a soft red turtleneck sweater and Steelbeak sporting a light grey long-sleeved Henley style shirt (again, who gets payed to pick these names?) with dark blue trim and a pair of slightly darker grey sweatpants.
Within half an hour they’d lit a fire in Steelbeak’s fireplace- Dominic withheld his remarks about how unnecessarily extravagant it was to have a fireplace in an apartment complex with fully functioning heat since, begrudgingly, he had to admit it was appropriately cozy on a day like this- and the loon was seated patiently in the same spot as last night while his partner brought him a more substantial breakfast than his earlier coffee.
As he waited, Dominic brought the tall mug in his hands to his lips and took a sip with a pleased hum. While it didn’t have the same kick as his previous drink, he wasn’t about to complain about the creamy hot chocolate Steelbeak had prepared for him- the kind made by pouring hot milk and cream over chocolate until it melted, not “that watered down powdered garbage” as the rooster would put it- especially not when he’d made him a peppermint one with red striped marshmallows. There were even bits of crushed candy cane coating the rim and a pair of full sized candy canes hanging from the edge. Picking one up by its crook, the content loon used the candy to briefly stir his drink and melt into it before popping it into his mouth and happily eating the remains.
Dominic had once mentioned to Steelbeak that candy canes were a preferred treat during winter when they’d been having a conversation about comfort food. The peppermint sticks were a childhood favorite- a preference that was quite fortunate since many places gave the sweet treats out for free once the “holiday spirit” began to spread, making it an easy to obtain a bit of food when his mother was unable to provide more than the bare minimum needed for the two of them to survive. His love for the striped sweets continued into adulthood, giving him a fondness for the simple candy whenever the season came about.
That bit of information had only been shared between the two once, but it was apparently enough for Steelbeak to plan ahead and keep a box of candy canes handy in his large pantry. He’d never admit he went out and purchased them simply because his partner liked them, though, even if he himself wasn’t as big of a fan of peppermint (that little prank on their first date probably didn’t help much).
This, Dominic had realized some time ago, was something Steelbeak did often- holding onto small, seemingly inconsequential bits of information and using them to surprise his partner later. Dominic mentions his favorite color while they’re making fun of a ridiculous fashion model show? He receives a new shirt in that color a few weeks later. Dominic makes a disgusted face and shudders upon seeing a cockroach while they’re in a warehouse? Steelbeak suddenly starts killing or removing any insects he sees when they’re together. Dominic mentions on their first date that he enjoys snow and ice skating? His partner pays supervillains to alter the weather and takes him out early to enjoy it properly.
It may have been an instinct developed after spending nearly two decades as a spy- information had value in their line of work, after all- or it may have simply been a trait unique to Steelbeak himself. Either way, Dominic found it extremely endearing and was grateful for his partner’s memory and small acts of care & consideration.
A plate fresh cinnamon rolls and blueberries being set on the coffee table in front of him brought Dominic’s gaze up to look at the very man who’d been occupying his thoughts.
Steelbeak, balancing a matching plate in one hand and a large mug of hot chocolate in the other, winked down at the loon as he set his own breakfast on the table near his end of the couch. “Told ya I had breakfast taken care of, Dom.”
“A good thing you did, too- I’m famished.” Dominic set his mug on the table and exchanged it for one of the enticingly large rolls on his plate. “I’ll pay you back by taking care of lunch.”
Steelbeak chuckled, knowing he wouldn’t win if he tried to argue. “Fine. But we split the difference at dinner. Deal?”
“Deal.” Dominic agreed with a quiet chuckle of his own before digging into his roll.
The pair sat and ate in comfortable silence for a while, enjoying their sweet treats and warm drinks in front of the crackling fire. Once they were finished, Dominic volunteered to take care of the dishes, despite Steelbeak’s adamant insistence that he didn’t need to- again, though, he knew he wouldn’t win once the other man stated he was going to take care of it.
When Dominic returned to the living room, he was surprised to see Steelbeak had wrapped himself in a large, heavily padded quilt in the time he’d been away. “Still feeling cold?”
“Kinda..” Steelbeak yawned and pulled the blanket tighter around himself, his legs drawn up under it as he sat curled up on the couch. “That an’ my adrenaline an’ coffee finally ran out…” Off-white fingers rubbed at extremely tired dark gray eyes. “Think I’m gonna be outta commission ‘til lunch…won’t hold it against ya if ya head back t’ your place.”
Dominic considered it for a moment, but eventually shook his head and picked up a book he’d left on one of Steelbeak’s end tables during his last visit. “I think I’ll stay.”
Steelbeak shrugged, settling in for a much needed nap. “Suit yourself, stripes..” His eyes were nearly closed when a weight against his side made them flutter open once more. “Hm..?”
Rather than take his usual spot at the opposite end of the couch, Dominic had opted to sit right next to Steelbeak- to the point where he was sitting sideways with his head reclined against the rooster’s blanket-covered shoulder and his legs were spread out over the empty cushions.
“Just getting comfortable.” Was the only explanation he needed to give.
Both men had soft, content smiles on their faces as they settled in for some much needed relaxation. They intended to enjoy their snow day as much as possible by doing as little as possible. After all, with this city’s unpredictable weather, who’s to say when they’ll get another chance?
Then again, Dominic thought as he opened his book to its marked page, perhaps the weather in St Canard wasn’t that bad.
End Notes: Hope you all enjoyed this wintery fun filled fic and have a happy holiday season =^.^=
#darkwing duck#dwd#Steelbeak#Dominic Domino#steeldomino#darkwing duck oc#dwd oc#not my oc#thefriendlyfour
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This Is Love (Chapter Ten): The Snakes We Don’t See
Notes: Kinda been sitting on the two most recent chapters, since I like started to write some cyberpunk 2077 stuff. So, thats why its been a while, but given how short the prologue for that fic is, I decided to go ahead and update this this month as well.
Word Count: 13277
Chapter Warnings: Child Abuse (excerpts from the book of joseph), Suicide (non-graphic but still), A body horror dream (my favorite) with some symbolism/implications of sexual assault, discussion of religion, and really really way too blunt on the nose foreshadowing
For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!
For the previous chapter; click here!
The church and compound look beautiful in the moonlight, Dahlia can’t help but note as she drives Cassie towards it. The modest white buildings and the silver gate work looking beautiful beneath a blanket of stars. It’s not a steady bustle of activity like it was last time, thanks in large part to the late hour, she’s sure. But there’s a few church members meandering around the outside of the church, beyond the gate. Which, to her dismay is being watched by Theodore. It had to be one of the two members who hate her, didn’t it? Because life can’t just kick her in the teeth once and call it done, no, it has to throw in a few extra hits for good measure. The towering man is glaring at her as she comes to a slowed down stop before the gate.
“Though I doubt it’s why you’re here, service is over, so save me a headache and scram.”
“No can do, I gotta talk to Joseph.”
“Pfff,” he scoffs at her, “you arrest me, ruin service, and then come around demanding an audience with The Father. Gotta hand it to you, nothing else, you got balls.”
“Technically, Hudson arrested you, I wasn’t hired yet.”
“You think that helps?”
“Come on man, this ain’t about me.”
He looks past her to Cassie, still holding onto Dahlia’s back, face ducked down to hide away from his amber gaze. Dahlia can see gears turning in his head and he sighs, rolling his eyes.
“Fine, you can come through, but only ‘cause The Father likes you.”
“Thanks,” Dahlia parks her bike, Cassie handing her back her helmet before the pair walk into the compound.
“That guy at the gate is kind of…a lot.”
“Eh, he doesn’t like me much, but he’s not that bad. Lonny’s probably the biggest d-bag I’ve met here, Jacob and his…friends, if you can call ‘em that, are a bit rough. But, even then, I’m seen more friendly faces than I’ve seen cruel ones.”
A few people recognize Dahlia from the barbecue, giving her a kind smile and a friendly wave as she passes by in search of Joseph. She returns the kind gestures but stays focused on her goal. Dahlia isn’t quite sure she’s ready to fulfill her promise of stepping foot into the church just yet, but if they’re freshly done with service, that’d be where she’d find him.
“Deputy,” a soft angelic voice speaks out, Faith walking through the compound yard towards them, her hair is done up in plaits with flowers twisted in them, “is everything okay?”
“Uh, not really? I was hoping to talk to Joseph? If he’s around.” Of course he’s around, she’s not sure why she’s acting like there’s a chance he’s not here.
“Sure, I’ll go get him right away.”
She breathes a sigh of relief when she sees him, walking out of the church with Faith beside him, she’s never been happier to see a preacher in her entire life. Dahlia looks over at Cassie and sees the raised eyebrow, which is understandable. Joseph is Joseph, strange and weird, shirtless with a myriad of sins and tattoos etched into his skin, and yellow aviators on despite the silver moonlight that covers them all. But at the moment, that moonlight gives him a halo, a saving grace for a shitty night.
“Deputy, I’m surprised to see you so soon,” Josephs greets her,
“Yeah, I’m sorry to bug you, but I…we,” Dahlia looks back at the still timid Cassie, duffle bag held out in front of her lap, “need some help. I didn’t know who else to turn to.”
“Of course, if there’s anything I can do to help, I will.”
“Well, Joseph, Faith, this is my friend Cassie, Cassie this is Joseph and Faith,” Dahlia first introduces them
“Hi…” Cassie gives an awkward nod of her head.
“A pleasure to meet you,” Joseph responds with a warm smile, “though I feel there’s more to this than friendly introductions.”
His gaze lingers on Dahlia’s knuckles, still stained with Liam’s blood.
“Okay, so, Cassie’s home life is,” Dahlia pauses and looks to Cassie, searching for words that she might be comfortable with the deputy using, “bad, she’s not safe there. That’s all I’ll say. So, I was letting her stay with me but….recent events mean it ain’t too safe there either.”
“I’m so sorry, I’m sure this has been difficult on the two of you.”
“Difficult is a word for it; but more importantly, I hear Eden’s Gate takes folks in.”
“Deputy…”
“I know it’s a lot to ask, I know it’s short notice, and I-“
A large warm hand grasps her shoulder and she doesn’t flinch, not this time.
“I’m honored you’d come to me for help.”
And she feels his sincerity in his touch, hears it in every word, and sees it in his eyes. It’s hard to believe how much she distrusted him at first, she curses her past for coloring her view. He’s strange certainly, but he’s good.
“So, I take it you can help?”
“Of course, my child.”
“We have plenty of space at the convent,” Faith chimes in with a soft smile, looking from Joseph to Cassie.
“Thank you, thank you, seriously, thank you so much,” Cassie gushes, relief swimming in her dark eyes.
“We can get you settled in tonight.”
“That’s so sweet, I can’t thank you enough.”
“We’re happy to help,” then Joseph’s eyes turn to Dahlia, “will you be alright though, deputy?”
Joseph suddenly catches her hand in his own, brushing his fingers over her bloodied knuckles, no sign of hesitation at the rough sight. Brows furrowed in concern.
“Oh yeah, it’s not mine, don’t worry, uh,” she catches herself, “that sounds bad, but like dude was gonna torch my trailer so, it was like okay to punch him, I think.”
“Wait, what?” Cassie’s eyes go wide as she looks to Dahlia, she must not have seen Liam with the lighter, only Dahlia striking him.
“Yeah, dude was gonna fuckin’ torch the place, so I blacked his eye. More than fair, if you ask me.”
“Okay, first,” Cassie starts and Dahlia smiles as a bit of the girl’s personality peeks through her fear, “I didn’t know it was that bad. Secondly, I don’t think you’re suppose to talk like that in front of a church and it’s preacher.”
“I also shouldn’t have worn a shirt that said ‘hail satan’ to their sermon.”
“You what?”
“Look, in my defense,” Cassie is covering her mouth and laughing, a welcomed sight, “I don’t think, okay, you think I think and I just don’t alright.”
Dahlia is laughing through her own words, face flushed red at being the butt of the joke, but if it can bring a smile to Cassie’s face right now she’d make a thousand more mistakes like it. Faith’s little melodic giggles ring out behind her own hand. Joseph doesn’t laugh but he does smile. With the tension of Cassie’s housing eased, everyone seems in a brighter mood.
“And despite all that, you still like her?” Cassie asks, looking up at Joseph and Faith.
“I’d get mad but like, fair fuckin’ question.”
“I’ve forgiven sins and transgressions far greater than yours, deputy,” Joseph says and his eyes are intense, kind, but the word sins makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up. It’s not a fun word, but most religions have a ‘everyone’s born a sinner’ mentality. So, surely she can’t be too upset.
“Your patience is both staggering and appreciated, I assure you,” Dahlia tells him, her smile a bit more forced than it was a moment ago. If he can tell he doesn’t say anything.
“Come on Cassie, I’ll introduce you to everyone and we’ll get you settled, okay?”
“Yeah, that sounds nice.”
Faith grabs Cassie’s hand and leads her away with a giggle, the sigh of the flower adorned woman leading her away in the night reminds Dahlia of her odd dream before. The draw of Faith, the siren pulling someone away in the moonlight. But that’s silly, Dahlia tells herself, they’re climbing into a pickup truck drove by another church member, yelling goodbyes to Joseph and Dahlia with smiles on their face. Yet the image of a siren dragging a victim into the sea pricks at her mind, despite how asinine it may be.
Dahlia shakes her head, wondering why her nerves have suddenly ticked up. She’s over this, isn’t she? Eden’s Gate is good, she reminds herself, one of the few good things in this county that’s actually helping people instead of letting them drift into the cracks. Despite everything she’s heard, they’re good. Her personal issues is just fucking with her, that has to be it.
“Are you certain you’ll be okay, Deputy?” Joseph asks as the truck rolls down the curves of the road, disappearing over the horizon, Cassie gone with it.
“Uh, yeah, gave the guy a hell of a shiner so he should cut the shit for a while. Should be fine.”
“Is it?”
“Fuck if I know, but what am I gonna do, sit around and cry about it?”
“I certainly wouldn’t expect you to, but if something does happen, you know you can come to me.”
“Yeah, uh, it means a lot,” Dahlia scratches at the back of her neck, his gaze too intense again, “and thanks again for helping out Cassie. It means a lot, I really don’t know if I can thank you enough.”
“You could always attend church, if you wanted to show thanks.”
“Patient but persistent, I see, but, uh, not quite ready to cash in that promise yet.”
“I understand but, I’d be remiss if I didn’t caution you. My patience may be staggering, but the world is not so kind. Time is finite and you window for finding salvation may be closing quicker than you know.” His voice is fevered and impassioned, hints of a southern accent peeking through as his intensity rises, awash in moonlight the glow of it around turns from a halo to an eerie glow.
“Okay, not holding back, are you?” Dahlia tries to laugh it off, religious folks are just like this sometimes, aren’t they?
“I would be doing you a disservice if I did.”
“So…you think the worlds ending?” She asks, trying to keep her tone light, the only other interpretation of her window closing is Joseph’s convinced she’ll die soon.
“You don’t?” He questions, brows furrowed, as if the idea of the world not ending is ridiculous. And…she kind of gets that.
“I didn’t say that,” she moves to lean her back against the church building, standing next to Joseph instead of before him, looking at the stars, “I mean eventually humans are gonna destroy the planet, climate change, corporate pollution, not to mention us just trying to kill each other half the time. And even if we don’t fuck it up, eventually time will, sun’s going to go to the next stage and destroy the earth. So…”
“You sense it coming, too..” He presses his back against the wood next to her, no longer focusing his stare on her but the moon, maybe he sense her unease with his gaze…
“Yeah…I guess, don’t know when or how, but eventually…”
The itch of nerves under her skin is too strong, she digs a cigarette from it’s pack and lights it, smoking against the church building. John warned her it’s forbidden by Eden’s Gate, that Joseph wouldn’t like such an act, but he doesn’t stop her in the moment. Whether it’s another moment of him showing her kindness or just consideration for her not being apart of the church, she doesn’t know.
“Yet, you still put off salvation.”
“Okay,” she exhales a plume of smoke, “I’ll bite, what’d that fix?”
“When the world collapses those who’ve followed the path to Eden, confessed their sins, atoned, and made their sacrifice will be the ones who walk into the garden, into New Eden. A world cleansed of sin and turmoil. The world will be pure again, free of pain.”
New Eden sounds like their heaven, essentially, to Dahlia. So, nothing truly new by any religious standards. Almost every Christian religion has a doomsday, revelation, apocalypse, end of the world and those who do what god wants get to be super happy in some magic paradise, while everyone else burns. Same stuff, new label.
“Well, as much as your concern for my immortal soul is appreciated, I’m gonna have to pass.”
“You’ll come to understand eventually… I just hope it’s not too late.”
She scratches at the back of her neck again, his words leaving a bad taste in her mouth that mingles with the nicotine, it feels dismissive of her… Like he claims to know her feelings and where they’ll end up better than she does. There’s a habit among those older than her to assume they know how the world works more than she does, she chalks it up to an old man thing, and lets it roll off her back. He still helped her, despite his faults.
“We’ll have to agree to disagree, but I do appreciate everything, I’ll have to when I get a chance call Cassie and see how she’s settles in.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be so simple.”
“What?” She turns to look at Joseph now, raising an eyebrow, why wouldn’t she be able to call Cassie?
“While Cassie is staying with us, we do expect her to abide by our rules. There are no cellphones permitted in the convent, I’m sure you understand.”
“Oh,” Dahlia blinks, “guess that explains why not a single person was on their phone at the barbecue.”
“Smartphones and social media have eroded people’s values, they’re more concerned with it than they are their own family.”
“Okay, okay, I get it; the convent have a landline or Satan manage to get through that too?” His expression hardens, unimpressed by her quip, though she can’t help but smile. After a moment, he sighs.
“There is a landline available there, but it’s typically reserved for church matters. If you wish to check on her, visiting and writing letters would be ideal.”
“Got it, I’ll keep that in mind,” she moves from her spot against the church exterior, “thanks again, Joseph. I’ll talk to you, later.”
“Have a nice night, Deputy.”
“You too.”
Dahlia stubs out her cigarette once she’s outside the compound’s gates, climbing onto her motorcycle. She didn’t realize how isolated Cassie might be there, if she’s not even allowed to call her friend. It just doesn’t sit right. But, Joseph’s far from the only old religious man to claim technology is bad. And if Cassie is living with them, it’s natural to expect her to follow the same guidelines as everyone else. It was already asking a lot for them to house her, it’d be unthinkable to expect special treatment as well.
The trailer park is far calmer when she rides through, damage already done, Dahlia sighs at the sight of all the havoc they caused. It’s already well past midnight, but her night is far from done. There’s glass to be cleaned up and windows to be covered until she can get supplies to fix them properly. She could care less about the spray paint and if needed she can sleep through the chill, but she’d at least like to not sleep on broken glass.
She’s parked and locked up her bike, walking up her porch when she hears the crush of steps, someone clearing their throat. Liam stands, hands in his pockets and a mottle of bruises across his eye. His blues eyes look anywhere but her.
“Dude, seriously, just go. I-”
“I’m sorry…,” he mumbles, clearing his throat again, searching for words, “I didn’t know she was in there, I really didn’t. Clyde said she left out and he hadn’t seen her come back, we thought the place was empty and-”
“And? You could have killed her, ignorance don’t cure third degree burns!” She’s taken steps towards him, nearly yelling in his face now, she can see hurt in his face. He may not have meant to take a life, but in one dumb moment he nearly did and he damn well needs to know that.
“I know, I know, I just…no one got hurt, she, she ain’t hurt, right?”
“No, thank fuck, but that doesn’t make it okay? Even if you didn’t hurt you, you scared the fuck out of her, this was suppose to be a safe place for her and you destroyed that!”
“I’m sorry, okay, I… I can’t fuckin’ say sorry enough and I mean it. I just we were drinking and thought we’d see if we could run ya out of here, it got out of hand.”
“You hate cops, I get that, I do and quite frankly you wanna give me hell, have at it. There ain’t anything you can do to me that hasn’t already been done. But shit like that doesn’t just affect me, hell, you could of set the whole damn place on fire.”
“Yeah, I, fuck I nearly pulled a Sharky.”
“I’m…not sure what you mean by that, ‘cause last thing I saw that man do was…very different. But, uh, if you’re doing that too you should stop.” Her stomach churns at the reminder of Boshaw in his jeep, she really was hoping she repressed that.
“I don’t even wanna know,” Liam shakes his head, “but I am sorry about Cassie…I’d like to apologize to her, if she’s around.”
“Fat chance of that man, I found her another place to stay, she’s somewhere safe and far away from your ass.” The convent isn’t particularly far away, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“I deserve that.”
“Fuck yeah, you do.”
“Well, I said my piece, I assume I’ll be seeing the inside of a cell tomorrow?”
She chews her lip for a moment, he strikes her as genuine, in both his remorse and ignorance. He wasn’t trying to become a murderer, he only mean to run her out of the trailer park. And at the end of it all, Cassie is safe.
“Nah man, it’ll be fine, so long as you don’t pull this shit again. You do and I’ll be in jail for killing your ass.”
“Gotcha…thanks…I think.”
“Now, fuck off, I got a mess to clean. Unless you care enough to help?”
“Hell no, have fun, narc,” Liam scoffs at the idea and leaves, clear his remorse was only ever for Cassie’s sake. Asshole. She watches him vanish into his own trailer before finally walking into her own to start on her night of work.
That night and next day are monotonous, mess cleaned up and windows covered just as the sun starts to rise over the horizon. Muscles aching and a damp sweat clinging to her skin, she showers and catches a few hours of sleep. When she wakes up she’s off to the local hardware store and buying what she needs to fix the windows, as well as some damage done inside the trailer.
The sun is setting on the next day by the time all the damage is attended to, well everything but the graffiti of PIG across the outside of the trailer. But, she doesn’t have the energy to wash it away. Lounging around her living room after another shower, Dahlia finds her mind drawn back to Cassie and The Seeds.
No phone calls, only letter writing. It seems so unnecessarily archaic in the modern age, though she may mostly be whining because her handwriting is completely illegible. It’s too late to drop in on the convent, plus she doesn’t particularly want to move. After last night, she likes the idea of a lazy night. And with her long at time hard to predict workdays, it may not be possible to swing by for more than a moment until the weekend.
She doesn’t have to write her letter, at least not by hand, she decides as she opens her laptop. She’ll type it up and print it out at the station, then she can send it like a proper letter, to appease Joseph’s hatred of tech.
“Hey, Cassie, Deputy whatever (did I tell you my last name, legit can’t remember?) here. Joseph said you guys can’t like call? I guess? But you can get letters, so given my handwriting, typing it instead. I just wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re settling in. Maybe this weekend I can visit? I’ll treat you to lunch.”
That sounds alright, she decides, saving the typed letter. She drums her fingers against the table, searching for something else to maintain her attention. The Book of Joseph with her drawing tucked inside of it is still nearby, Joseph’s lecture of last night coming to mind. Maybe, she could write him a thank you letter? He seems like the kind of guy who’d appreciate that, she opens another document.
“Dear Joseph,
That’s how you format a letter, right? Sorry, social media has “eroded” my soul and the art of letter writing is lost on my generation. That’s a joke, I hope it’s somewhat funny, if not sorry. My handwriting is atrocious, so I hope a typed letter still fits into your beliefs, since I’m trying here. I just wanted to thank you in some small way, despite some of our different beliefs, you’ve been incredibly kind to me and my friend. I read somewhere that drawings can be like gifts? So, I drew something for you. I hope it’s a nice gesture and not creepy, but it can’t be as creepy as the portrait in your book and creepy is kind of your thing, so. Also a joke, I promise I’m trying to be funny not mean… I’ll end this now, thanks again, Me, Cassie, and my eroded damned soul appreciate it. “
Dahlia saves the letter to Joseph, it’s messy and awkward, but so is she. She’ll print and mail them both out tomorrow. Hopefully, she won’t have to put her proper name on an envelope to send it. The idea of no one knowing her name is fun, she wants to play into it. The mysterious deputy who no one knows, sounds way cooler than she is.
She stretches her arms out and puts her laptop aside, grabbing the Book of Joseph, the conversation with Joseph has renewed her interest in learning more about his beliefs. Even if they don’t align, even if she’ll never believe in god, the least she can do is try to understand. She made harsh initial judgments and still struggles with her past effecting her thoughts, making what could be nothing into red flags, this is a way to make amends. Even if Joseph isn’t able to see her efforts, it means something to her, growing as a person.
“Not ice cream trucks, not social services cars, not even police patrols.
In any case. In these parts, people kept their noses out of other people's business, even when that business took place on a porch out in the open.
The father thrashed his arms furiously while the boy, young Joseph Seed stood with his head bowed, contrite and seemingly fixated on the floorboards. If he had looked up, he would have seen the kaleidoscopic colors of an old issue of Spiderman flashing by, alternating with the smooth black leather of his father's Bible and the ruddy face of the father himself. He would have seen the grey teeth-few and far between-of Old Man Seed, as the locals called him, or Old Man Seed behind his back, as Josephs big brother Jacob had snickered to him. Dental care was not a priority in the Seed household. The money was needed for other things. So, his father's teeth always reminded Joseph of the rocky crags that pirate ships washed up on in picture books at the library.”
She tries to see them, a young Joseph and Jacob on their porch. It’s both easy and difficult all at once. A part of her can easily see in her mind, the two young boys with freckled faces and bright blue eyes, one ginger and the other brunette. But, connecting that to who she knows to be Joseph and Jacob Seed is more difficult. It’s always weird to imagine old people when they were young, old to her she should specify. To imagine the mountain that is Jacob Seed as a young boy, laughing behind his abusive father’s back. To see Joseph as a little boy reading comic books and pirate stories. The images seem so far removed from the tall intense older men she knows now.
The life they’ve lived is one she knows well, no media beyond the bible, and beatings for breaking rules. But, her own abuser was more hidden, pretending to be a pillar of the community with his wonderful little church while beating her black and blue behind closed doors. Behind a church following service was the most brazen he ever became; it’s hard to imagine a man bold enough to beat his children in broad daylight on his porch. Though, she has no doubt what she reads is true. She’s seen Joseph’s back, his distaste for shirts making every scar a public display, she knows the lash marks well. Her own back marred with them as well.
It makes her wonder, how they could be so different in their takeaways… Joseph if anything has turned to religion, leading his own church and group, taking issue with the sinfulness of modern media. Though, by no means an abuser, it’s hard to debate that he now shares qualities with his father, if only regarding religiosity.
Dahlia once heard that people grow up to be their parents, particularly their same sex parents. Which is an all at once terrifying prospect for most people, but especially for people like her and the Seeds. The prospect she could be anything like her mother, watching passively as her own child is abused, bending to the will of a man and losing herself completely; is downright terrifying. Dahlia is determined to not let that happen, but it’s still a fear. She can see ways they match; both physically and in certain traits. Dahlia wonders if Joseph sees the way he matches his father and if those qualities scare him too. If he worries his faith has turned him into that same monster. She wonders too about Jacob, if his surliness is a part of that, if he sees any of his father in himself.
“The priority in the Seed household, as everyone in the neighborhood knew, was cheap whiskey, which the father drank from dawn 'til dusk. The more whiskey that went in, the more Bible verses that came out -and the more often his children felt the switch.
The cause of the paternal fury was simple: comics were forbidden in the home - comics and books, records, magazines, radio, and television. Only the Bible was allowed.
Once, when the entire elementary school went to see Gone with the Wind at an old theatre in town, Joseph's father had leapt up in rage like a drunken jack-in-the-box, and before stunned teachers and students, launched into a rambling sermon condemning the sins of Hollywood, insisting this Babylon had long perverted the most fragile of minds and was responsible for the downfall of all of America, with Joseph under one arm and Jacob under the other, he stormed out of the room still hurling curses.”
Dahlia doesn’t have many blessings to count, but Monroe never dragged her from school with a sermon. Only making her withdraw and begin homeschooling the moment he learned the public school had the nerve to provide even shoddy sex education. But she’d take a quiet withdrawal from the system over being physically dragged out before everyone.
“This time, when they arrived home, he beat Jacob only, because he was the eldest and thus responsible for his younger brother. At least the brothers had had time to see Atlanta burn. Thus, when Old Man Seed stood on the porch and began sliding off his belt, the child simply removed his T-shirt, folded it carefully, and bent over to offer his pale, delicate back to the worn-out strap of leather.
Joseph's head was turned toward the well maintained- at least by local standards - house of a quiet, gentle widow. He considered it a blessing, if a small one. Facing the other way, he would have had to look at the other neighbor's house, which even by local standards was so run-down as to be hideous to the eye. When they were younger, the widow used to bake them cakes, probably out of pity for them. The children's mother wasn't exactly an impressive chef. She wasn't exactly a loving mother either. But the widow didn't bake much of anything anymore now that she was dying of cancer. Instead, she spent her days in her porch rocking chair, rain or shine, tottering gently. Jacob and Joseph argued over whether the groaning came from the wooden rocking chair or the old women.”
Dahlia closes the book, marking the page at that point, she can’t deny the intensity of the content and the impact it has on her. She can only stomach so much at a time, trauma too close to her own. Talks of a lackluster mother and the kindness of strangers only adding to it all. Maybe one day she’ll talk to Joseph about this, how he can bless those who hurt him in such a way, how he has managed to be so open about it. It all seems to be a level of maturity she can’t imagine reaching, how much work and growth does it take to accomplish that?
She falls asleep that night thinking of just how much work she has left to do, just how far she has to go as a person. How long will it take her to be okay with her past? Thoughts fade to black as she succumbs to her heavy eyelids.
The sun is bright and high in the bright blue sky, deceptively cherry for what her and Pratt are being called out to. Despite shifting opinions on Joseph, she can’t deny that the statue still creeps her the fuck out. As they drive further upward, the sheer scale of the cement monument takes her breath away. How much time and work went into that? Joseph doesn’t seem to have an ego, but to an outsider this downright makes him look like a narcissist. They don’t go fully up the mountain, where the trail forms stone circular steps and rings around the base of the statue. From where they park, she can see gazebos with flowers woven into them that line the open space around it.
There’s a small crowd waiting for them at the base of the mountainside the statue is built on, a section of it just beneath the stone Joseph’s hand is carved slightly down. Ledges with spots to grapple along comes down to the ground. The statue blocks out the sun when they stand beneath it, the visage of Joseph towering over them like a kaiju is both terrifying and hilarious to the young deputy.
The ambulance is already there, body bag being brought inside of it, sparing the deputies from seeing what remained of the person after they jumped. Rocky ground where the man would have hit is painted with a white Eden’s Gate symbol, blood now staining the dark rock and white paint.
Faith and a few Eden’s Gate members are nearby. The youngest Seed sits on a stone, adorned in one of her delicate white dresses, her blonde hair pulls back in a soft ponytail today. Her feet are still bare, as if someone’s blood isn’t mere inches from her, as if a body bag isn’t being rolled into an ambulance. Faith leans back on her hands, humming softly, kicking her feet gently in tune to her little song. Does this even faze her?
“Not much to do here,” the EMT tells Pratt and Dahlia, “another suicide, guy hit his head off the cliff before he even reached the ground, dead on arrival.”
“This happen a lot?” Dahlia asks, looking between Pratt and the EMT. They talked as if this happens every day.
“Kinda, “ Pratt admits, “I mean, it’s easy to access and tall as fuck, people have been jumping off to die since the peggies finished building it.”
“Hope County’s version of The Golden Gate Bridge.”
“That’s…fucked.”
“We gotta get to the morgue, call the next of kin, don’t know if there’s much else for you all to handle.”
“Alright, thanks for the help.”
Pratt and Dahlia wave off the EMT as the ambulance drives away; leaving the deputies with Faith and the Eden’s Gate members. It’s only natural to ask the owners of the statue a few questions, if they saw or heard anything. Faith seems to know this, given her soft smile as she waits for them, this really must be a normal occurrence.
“Hello, deputies,” she greets them as they wander off, “it’s a shame really, that a symbol of hope is used by the hopeless to end their own suffering.”
“I’m sure your heart is breaking, but, don’t suppose there’s any chance you saw anything?’
“No, I’m afraid no one was here this morning or late last night.”
“Of course,” Pratt says, more annoyed than anything and if this is the typical, Dahlia can understand why. There’s not much they can really do, it’s a tragedy, but unless there was another party involved it’s not really a police matter.
But, Dahlia wonders why the statue is so enticing a spot for suicide? It’s tall of course, the fall is a certain death. But, there are so many bridges around as well, not that she’s in that mental state at the moment but she imagines falling into water to die would be more enticing than hitting rock. And it’s odd as well, that the impact spot is marked with their symbol.
“Why is the ground painted?”
“Hmm?” Faith hums out an inquisitive noise, blinking at the deputy’s sudden question.
“The ground here, your church symbol is on it, I was just wondering why? Doesn’t seem like you can or would do much in this exact spot?”
Dahlia’s reminded of a bible passage, one of many she recalls from her childhood. The story of Satan trying to tempt Jesus to jump from a high cliff in Jerusalem, that if he’s truly the child of god he’d be safe, to give a leap of faith. It sticks in the back of her mind, nagging at her, surely that wouldn’t be a thing?
“Oh, I know it’s silly, but we like to put our symbol of hope and faith wherever we can, even in the smallest of places.”
“Uh, this isn’t like a thing, is it?” Dahlia asks before she can stop herself.
“Rook,” Pratt scolds her for the accusatory question. But Faith giggles.
“You really have a vivid imagination, don’t you, Rook? I don’t imagine we’d keep many members if we were pushing them off a statue.”
“Yeah, sorry,” that was dumb, Dahlia realizes the second she hears it out loud, “I think I’ve been watching too many horror movies.”
“Next, you’ll be accusing us of drugging our members,” Faith says, giggling with a soft smile on her face and Dahlia laughs along, yeah, she’s being ridiculous.
“Okay, well with that out of the way, we’ll get out of your hair,” Pratt speaks up, ready to go back to the station, not that there was much for them to do.
“Uh, actually, I did wanna ask you something, real quick, about Cassie,” Dahlia pipes up, before they leave. Pratt raises an eyebrow, looking at Dahlia.
“She’s settling in really well, she already feels like a part of the family, I assure you.” Faith squeezes Dahlia’s shoulder, warm in it’s reassurance.
“Thanks, I’m hoping I can visit before too long.”
“Oh, that’d be wonderful!” Faith captures both of Dahlia’s hands this time, grinning and stepping into the deputy’s personal space. Her and Joseph are both so touchy, it catches her off guard.
“Well, it’s been nice talking to you Faith, but we really need to be headed back now, c’mon, Rook.”
“Coming,” Dahlia calls out following behind a fast walking Pratt, one final wave goodbye to Faith.
Dahlia is fastening her seat belt in the cruiser, Pratt starting up the engine and taking them back down that winding road. There’s a palpable tension that eases with every step away from that statue. Whoever at Eden’s Gate approved it is ridiculous.
“Didn’t know you and Faith were so close.”
“We get along alright, her and Joseph helped me out this weekend.”
“What, you ditch the barbecue to hang out with peggies?”
“No,” she rolls her eyes, “my friend Cassie was staying with me, some shit happened at the Moonflower, they offered to help her out.”
“Since when do you have friends?”
“Hahaha, hilarious. Look, it’s not like I planned for shit to go sideways, why do you even care?”
“I don’t.”
“Sure seems like you do.”
“I don’t, you wanna run around with peggies, that’s your business, but it’s not gonna do you any favors around here.”
“Oh no, are the popular girls not gonna like me if I sit with the peggies?” Dahlia says with mock worry, pressing her hand to her chest. What kind of high school bullshit is this?
“Shut up, I’m fuckin’ serious, the only people who like peggies are peggies. Since when do you like that shit anyway?”
“I don’t like it, I’m not into religion, you know that. Just, I don’t know, doesn’t mean they aren’t chill.”
“Eden’s Gate is not fuckin’ chill, they’re weird and a pain in the ass.”
“They’re definitely weird, you know social media has eroded my soul?”
“What they find out you shared John’s shitty commercial on Twitter?”
“Huh, no? How’d you know that?” Dahlia’s careful to keep herself hard to identify online, her Twitter has no name, job, or location. Though, unless Eden’s Gate is broadcasting their cheesy crap all over the nation, that’d be easy for a Hope County Native too figure out.
“Petunia’s your icon on there.”
“I didn’t realize you could tell the difference in opossums.” In Dahlia’s defense, Petunia looked adorable eating her lunch that day and again, she assumed anyone would just think it was a random opossum picture.
“I know Petunia when I see her, give me some credit,” he rolls his eyes, “you know John’s gonna kill you if he does find out.”
“Well, it’s a damn good thing Eden’s Gate doesn’t use social media then.”
“Ah, yes, because as we all know no one ever disobeys their religion. I for one am still a picture perfect altar boy.”
“Loo-you’re Catholic?” The realization hits her and she looks bewildered at her partner’s profile. Granted, she rarely thinks about anyone’s religion, but for Pratt it seems all the more confusing. He hardly seems religious by any standard.
“I was raised Catholic,” he specifies and she nods her head, “Joey was too.”
“Neither of you are anymore?”
“I really can’t be bothered to give a fuck about it anymore, it is what it is, pretty sure Joey completely gave up on any of it.”
“There’s not a lot of practicing Catholics in this area, is there?” She’s pretty sure Montana is mostly protestants.
“No, the church in Falls End is Hope’s Catholic church, and it’s always been small. Me and Joey were damn near the only kids even.”
Dahlia can’t help but smile, thinking of Hudson and Pratt as kids. She always had the feeling they’d known each other for a long while, both talking about Hope County like they’ve been here all their lives. Hudson is a little older, but not much, so it just makes sense that in this small a place they’d known each other as children.
“How long have you guys known each other?”
“We playing fifty questions or something?”
“I’m curious!”
“No, your turn asshole. You wanna grill me on religion and shit, you get it back.”
“You already know how I feel about religion.”
“I know you didn’t wanna go to church and were a weirdo about it, that’s it.”
“Uhh,” she breathes, he’s right that it’s only fair to answer the same questions he answered for her, “my actual dad was Catholic, my mom was Jewish, then she remarried a fundie Preacher, Pentecostal, so that’s how I was raised, unfortunately.”
“So, you were zigzagged all over as far as that goes.”
“Eh, I mean, before she remarried, neither my mother or dad were like devout or felt they had to raise me a certain way. Like, I think I vaguely remember getting both Christmas and Hannukah when I was three?” She tries to pull up the fuzzy memory of when her mother, back when she was a true mother, helped her light a menorah and her dad hoisted her up to put a star on a modest Christmas tree.
“You believe in anything nowadays.”
“I consider myself an atheist at best.”
“At worst?”
“Well, if god does exist, he’s an asshole and I’d like to break his nose.”
That gets a laugh out of Pratt and Dahlia grins, she knows it sounds silly, but it’s true. How she genuinely feels, she doesn’t think anyone is watching over them, no singular or multiple gods, but if any creator can watch idly by as everyone suffers… Not someone she’d want to be worshipping, quite frankly.
The day winds down with little else for the deputies to do. Beyond the station windows the sky starts to turn pink, sun setting on another workday. Dahlia is fiddling with her phone, walking out of the station.
“You coming to The Spread Eagle tonight,” Hudson asks her, “I know you haven’t really been since that asshole gave you a hard time.”
“Oh uh, yeah, I could tag along.” Dahlia scratches at the back of her neck, feeling the heat climb up her face. She can see concern in Hudson’s olive-green eyes, which isn’t helping the blush across the young deputy’s face.
“C’mon then, probie,” Pratt calls out, giving Dahlia a playful smack on the shoulder as he passes by.
It’s the usual sight as Stray walks into The Spread Eagle; rock-folk music on the Jukebox tonight, couples dancing or sharing drinks, workers in flannels and dirty boots grabbing a drink after a long day. They slide into their usual seats, the youngest deputy between her two superiors, there’s a warmth to the low lights and wood interior. Mary May’s soft smile greeting them as she serves the rest of the patrons.
“I don't care if it rains!
Let's all go to the bar!
I don't care if there's a hurricane!
Let's all go to the bar!”
“I’ve been stuck on desk duty all day,” Hudson speaks over the music, starting the evening conversation with a groan, “so please tell me you two had something interesting happen.”
“Suicide out at Joseph’s statue, that’s about it.” Dahlia shrugs, nothing else really of note.
“Ugh, if I was near that statue I’d kill myself too.”
“It gives my heebie jeebies the heebie jeebies, not gonna lie.”
“Really, Rook, but Joseph’s your new best friend, remember?” Pratt cuts in to taunt the Junior Deputy.
“I have a finger for you.”
“You aren’t buddying up with the Seeds, are you deputy?” Mary May’s voice rings out as she sets drinks and food in front of the three officers, they hadn’t even ordered yet. Dahlia’s seen her do it with Hudson and Pratt, knowing the two deputy’s order inherently after years of routine. But it’s the first time she’s done it for Dahlia, knowing the youngest deputy’s favorite burger and soda. It’s nice and she’d love to spend a moment appreciating the coziness of it, but the weight of the bartender’s question hangs in the air.
“No,” Dahlia assures her, though a part of her feels guilty, as if she’s compromising loyalties, “they helped me and a friend out, that’s all.”
“Eden’s Gate doesn’t help anyone without expecting something in return, I know you’re new around here, deputy, but you need to be careful around them. They’ll do anything to have another cop wrapped around their finger.”
“Woah woah,” Dahlia holds her hands up in mock surrender, “it was just a little favor, nothing big I promise.”
“You don’t get it, that fami-“
“I think Merle is trying to flag you down for another beer,” Pratt interjects, saving Dahlia from the rest of the lecture.
“Yeah, uh, just be careful, deputy.” With that Mary May leaves them to serve Merle, some man with a mullet, another beer.
“Sorry about that,” Pratt says, “forgot how weird she gets about the Seeds.”
“Can’t blame her for it though, John Seed’s had it out for her family since they came here.”
“I would like to change the subject.”
“Pfft,” Pratt stifles a laugh at her blunt declaration, “alright, we can do that.”
“Well, okay, how’d your break go?”
“Mostly boring, other than when Pratt took me flying.”
“You took her up in the helicopter?” Hudson asks, raising an eyebrow at the male deputy over Dahlia’s shoulder.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“You seriously pulled that move on her?”
“Shut up.”
“Move?”
“Pratt has a habit of bringing girls up in the helicopter, don’t you?”
“I plead the fifth.”
“Oh, uh, I don’t know it was fun, though.” Dahlia shrugs, she doesn’t really care if he brings other people up in the helicopter. She’s not really sure how it’s relevant or what Hudson means by it being a move; she had fun with her friend and he cheered her up.
“Hear that, Joey, it was fun. Don’t put weird ideas in Rookie’s head. “
“Oh yeah, blame me.”
“So, anything interesting happen at the station while I was gone?”
“Well,” Hudson smirks, mischief in her eyes as she glances at Pratt again.
“She doesn’t need to know about that.”
“I think she does, the day after you went on leave-”
“I’d like to change the subject,” Pratt cuts Hudson off, mimicking Dahlia from earlier.
“I don’t even know what the subject is yet!” The youngest deputy objects, laughing.
“Well, a certain someone’s mom felt the need to come down to the station and let Whitehorse know just how wrong he is to put her precious son in harm’s way.”
“Oh my god,” Dahlia says, unable to resist smiling, while Pratt’s buried his head in his hands, “your mom came to the station?”
“Yes, yes, laugh it up.”
“You call me a child and you have your mommy checking in on you at work?”
“I didn’t invite her!”
Pratt’s face is flushed bright red while Hudson and Dahlia laugh at his expense, but despite the embarrassing aspect, Dahlia can’t help but think it’s a little endearing. His mom must really love him.
“She worry about you a lot?” Dahlia asks, core aching from laughing.
“Ugh, that’s a fuckin’ understatement.”
“Mama Pratt’s always been a little too worried about her baby boy,” Hudson taunts, reaching over the table to pinch at Pratt’s cheek, only for him to smack her hands away.
“I’m sure that went over great when you went into law enforcement.”
“She still gets furious at Whitehorse for putting us in danger.”
“Us?”
“She wasn’t very happy about me becoming a cop either,” Hudson admits and that makes sense, given what Pratt’s told Dahlia about them being close as kids, surely she’d be close to his mother.
“And if she meets you, she’ll be in Whitehorse’s ear again.”
“Huh?”
“I can hear it now, ‘how could you put that little girl in danger, what’s wrong with you?’” Hudson tries her best to mimic Pratt’s mother, grinning at the ridiculousness of it, and despite herself…the idea of his mom doting on her the way she would Hudson. As if Dahlia could be as close to either of them, even if the idea of being seen as a vulnerable little girl is a bit patronizing.
“Not gonna lie, I really want to meet your mom now.”
“No.”
“C’mon!”
“No, not in a million years, I get enough hell from Joey and Beau, I don’t need it from you too.”
Their conversation continues late into the evening as it so often does, just a few hours shy of staying until closing, early mornings the only thing that keeps them from staying later. Around the same time as they have every other night, they leave and say their goodbyes. Pratt and Hudson heading back to the small set of apartment housing that resides in the little town, while the youngest deputy rides back to the trailer park.
She stops at the mailboxes, in the registration building, rows of them with their lot numbers associated with them. The printed letters for Cassie and Joseph heavy in her pocket. A part of her does feel guilty, mostly to Mary May, but it’s not as if they’re close friends and the bartender can’t expect Dahlia to avoid an entire family because of hearsay. And it’s not as if she’s joining up or spending every moment with them. She shakes her head, stupid feelings, it’s not as if she has to choose sides. She can be thankful for the Seed’s help and still get along with Mary May. She tucks the letters inside her mailbox to be sent out then heads into her trailer, throwing herself down on her couch to sleep for the night.
Hands on her, groping and prodding on Dahlia’s bare body. She screams and fights against them, unable to see whom they belong to, a mystery hidden by the logic of a dream. They feel different, but she sees no difference, each pair ink black as if monsters reaching from the void to defile her. They claw and grab; scratching over her ribs, locking fingers around her throat, squeezing at her thighs, and pressing over her mouth. The hands are everywhere and they smear black across her skin, smears and filth, reminders of their violation. They stain her skin, mark her flesh, and leave the aftermath of their violence on her body.
And she fights. She kicks and she pulls, but it only spurs them to grab her more. Dahlia lashes out at the void that touches her, but it does not retreat. She bites at the ink fingers that push into her tongue, but the digits only press deeper in, sliding into her throat.
She can’t be sure if she breaks away or they let her go, but their touch is gone, Dahlia dropping to her knees as if they were the only thing supporting her. Inky black slick across her skin where they touched her, heavy even on her tongue, finger prints within them.
And she wretches as flowers bloom from the stains they’d left on her. Small blue flowers blossom forth bursting through the flesh of her tongue, sprouting from her throat and gagging her, soft petals falling from her lips. Those same vibrant blue flowers burst forth from her throat where she was choked.
Red flowers bloom out from the flesh of her ribs, stacked blossoms along a single stem cutting through the tender skin, like blades. They follow the curve of the bones within her, just long beneath her breast where rough hands had torn at her skin.
White petals, the most familiar as they recur so often and are a constant sight within the county. They grow through the plush of her thighs, not even blood or black tarnishing them as they push through her skin. They wind and weave as they come through like petal ropes around her .
And her heart staggers a beat as a sunflower grows within it, then through her chest, a vivid yellow. Her eye burns, a pressure behind it as another great yellow bloom grows behind it, piercing the fragile membrane, blood falling from her socket, vision in the eye obscured from the flower that’s taken it’s place.
She’s awash of yellows, blues, whites, and reds. Turned into a cruel art piece, body aching as her skin is open, her lungs choked, her heart stuttering to beat, and body protesting in agony.
And she snaps awake, not jolting from her couch but twisting with a heavy cough, phantom tickles within her throat. She gags on something that doesn’t exist, heartbeat thundering and lungs burning. Dahlia takes a moment to gather herself, a cold sweat still clinging to her skin. Her clock informs her it’s four in the morning.
She pushes back the hair that’s fallen into her face and lights up a cigarette, inhaling nicotine to ease her shaky body and frayed nerves. These dreams have only been getting more frequent and they’re starting to fuck with her. She can’t live with having a heart attack every other night and barely getting sleep.
Once she’s filled her lungs with smoke, let the burning cigarette nearly singe her fingers before she tosses it out. Dahlia throws on the lights, blinking through the way it blinds her after so long of darkness, but she ignores the sleep heavy in her eyes as she grabs her drawing pad, sitting at her coffee table on the floor letting her mind lead her hand.
Sunflowers she knows, the flower iconic enough in identity for her to know it and with the white flowers being so around the county, she could easily be able to figure out what they are. She thinks they’re called moonflowers, given the name of the trailer park and that a field of them surround them. But she sketches them out, along with the other flowers she saw. Four types of flowers on the page. She needs to get them on paper while they’re fresh in her mind. And then in the crux of them all, she draws out the layered ones from her previous dreams.
She plans on looking them up, flowers have significance and meaning, she’s heard that before that people can plan bouquets to communicate messages. She’s never cared about flowers in her entire life, so she has no idea why on earth they’d such a recurring theme in her dreams be.
Dahlia feels more relaxed now that she’s smoked and gotten the images of the flowers on paper. She’ll search for her answers later, after she’s gotten more sleep. Nerves and body relaxed, she curls back up on her couch, letting herself fall into a dreamless sleep.
It’s a few hours past noon the next day, a slow day of just tickets, the young deputy’s head is against her own seatbelt. Her eyes are starting to close despite the amount of energy drinks she’s consumed. She managed to salvage a few hours of restful sleep, but not nearly enough to keep her awake through an already boring day. Her eyelids are impossibly heavy, each blink growing longer and longer.
“Rook!”
“I’m awake!” Dahlia says with a jolt, Pratt’s voice and a shake of her shoulder waking her back up.
“Are you?” Pratt asks while laughing and she pinches at the bridge of her nose, a headache coming on.
“I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“What were doing?”
“Wasn’t doing nothing; just bad dream,” she tells him, shrugging.
“Units near the Orchard please respond,” Nancy from dispatch’s voice crackles over their radio, they’re still in the Valley and maybe five minutes from the giant orchard.
“Deputy Pratt responding.”
“Debbie and Doug called in a robbery, suspect has fled the scene, but they’re still requesting an officer to file a report.”
“We’ll be there shortly,” he hangs up the receiver, “wake up, Rookie, we have to actually work today.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe,” he admits, acknowledging that it’ll likely just be an hour of talking, writing down a report, and then leaving.
They drive past the pumpkin farm, Dahlia unable to resist smiling when she sees Boomer playing with his owners, weaving through the gourds. She’s reminded of her first day, stopping to pet the dog to dispel her own nerves. Then the apple trees filter in, bright red and shining in the light. Each tree is overflowing, a few crates out fill with the fruit, apples that have fallen on the ground.
Pratt pulls up to the orchard’s packing facility past the market stall that advertises cider tasting. There’s a man and woman standing in front of the large open packing facility; the building painted red with green roofing, the open doors showing the crates and machines. The smell of crisp apples hits Dahlia as she gets out of the cruiser, mixing with the fresh air, she feels more awake than she was before. Rarely, but sometimes, the beauty of the county manages to lift her spirits.
“What’s going on?” Pratt asks the couple.
“Someone,” Debbie gives a pointed look at her husband Doug, arms crossed, “left the office key in the stall again, next thing we know, someone cleared out our safe.”
“Hey, don’t blame me.”
“Well who the fuck am I suppose to blame?”
“That fuckin’ church would be a goddamn start.”
The tension is palpable as the couple argues, body language tight and wrought with frustration. Stray can’t tell if Debbie is about to cry or scream, maybe both. Doug looks as if he’d like to rip the earth up and bury himself beneath it.
“Everybody calm down, did anyone see anything suspicious?”
“John fuckin’ Seed and his band of goons were here earlier, no one saw him grab the key, but no one else would have. Son of a bitch has it out for us.”
“Alright, you wanna take me back to the office, I’ll have a look around,” Pratt asks Doug.
“Yeah, no problem.”
“You mind staying out here and talking to me, Debbie?” Dahlia offers, she’s not the most comforting person in the world, but the older woman clearly needs to get some stuff off her chest.
“Yeah, I can do that.”
Doug and Pratt go back to the office within the packing facility, leaving Dahlia alone with Debbie.
“Lets find a place to sit down and just breathe for a minute, alright?”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” Debbie agree and Dahlia places what she hopes to be a comforting hand on the woman’s back, guiding her into the market stall where she saw benches.
She settles in across from Debbie, who wrings her hands together.
“No pressure and you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but if you need an ear, I’m willing to listen.”
“Don’t even know where to start, ever since John Seed set his sights on the orchard, it’s been a nightmare.”
“He been making life hard for you?”
“That’s the understatement of the god damn century, that church has been buying up properties since they got here. The railyard, the old summer camp, the veterans center, the conservatory; list goes on…I use to wonder why everyone sold out to them, but I fuckin’ get it now.”
“They’re persistent?”
“They’re fucking heartless. Me and Doug built this place from the ground up; John Seed made an offer and we said no. Next thing we know; roads are blocked so our shipments can’t go out, they buy up the fertilizer plant and we can’t use it to help the new crops, cargo trucks are toting away product in the dead of night, and now this shit. We’ve been hemorrhaging cash ever since he set his sights on us. Got an attorney involved and all they did was charge us.”
“I’m so fucking sorry, I can’t even imagine how hard this is for you.”
“We had a good year for crops, thought we’d break even if nothing else, then what little we got was taken. I can’t even pay my god damn workers, we’ve had to let go of folks who’ve been here for years because they couldn’t keep working for free cider.”
The woman lets out a breath, body deflating as she finally gets everything off her chest, but her blue eyes are brimming with tears. Dahlia offers her a tissue from her pocket, not sure what else she can do, watching the woman dab at her eyes. Despite the help Joseph and his church has given to Dahlia and Cassie, this sort of behavior can’t be enabled. Theodore was stealing booze from The Spread Eagle, on the order of John Seed, when she first came here. Lonny hasn’t exactly been shy about insinuating he should just be allowed to take her motorcycle. So, it’s not far fetched to imagine them getting greedy. As ironic as it is to attach a sin to church goers.
“They can’t do that shit.”
“But they do, no evidence though, nothing can be done. If the cops even bother to show up, no offense, but a lot of your station ain’t doing their fucking jobs.”
“No offense taken, I’m not gonna sit here and tell you every cops here for the right reasons. But, uh, if there’s something I can do to help, I want to.”
“Short of a miracle, I don’t think there’s much we can do. Take John’s next offer, try to fuckin’ survive.”
“There has to be a way for you guys to keep the orchard,” Dahlia murmurs more to herself than Debbie, at the end of it all the young deputy doesn’t have a dog in the fight. But, her heart does break for the couple and she wants to find some way to help.
“I’m willing to try anything at this point.”
“Ever think of doing any kind of apple festival or something? I mean people do that, sounds nicer than one for testicles.”
“Pssh,” she laughs a little at the way Dahlia wrinkles her nose, “it’d take a lot of work to get something like that set up.”
“I mean, do you really think the rest of the county won’t come together to help, you can do stands, have food, games, charge some money. I mean, it’s an idea.”
“We got stands for the market, don’t know if I can cook for a whole county though, if they even show.”
“Do you think Casey or Chad would help out?” Dahlia brings up the cooks from the Spread Eagle and Grill Steak. Small communities are suppose to come together in times of crisis, that’s the hope at least. Lloyd always told her that’s what he loved about Hope County and Reinette, everyone’s willing to pitch in.
“Maybe… Casey knows the runners of the Testy Festy too, he could help up get vendors and games set up, I…ya think we can actually do this?”
“Way I see it, best case scenario, it gets you through the rough spot, sticks it to John Seed, and you could do it every year for an income boost. Worst case scenario, you go down swinging, having some fun, and with friends by your side,” Dahlia tells her honestly with a shrug, she doesn’t want to give false hope, but even in worst case scenario, it’s worth it to go down swinging.
“That’s,” she smiles, tears clearing, she looks hopeful finally, “that’s hard to argue with, you gonna help?”
“Of course, I can see about talking to Casey tonight even.”
“Deb?” Doug’s voice calls out and the women leave the market stall, Doug and Pratt have come back from the office Pratt raises an eyebrow, eye drifting from the now happy Debbie, to Dahlia. Silently asking her what the hell happened.
“There wasn’t anything that can pin it on anyone, no security footage or prints, sorry,” Pratt tells her.
“I figured… Doug, me and Deputy….” she searches for Dahlia’s name only to realize she doesn’t know it, “…her have been talking, what do you think about throwing together a festival?”
“A festival?”
“Yeah, we could get the county together, might just be what saves this place. I…just…I don’t wanna give up yet. She said she’d help, I think, I think we can do this.”
“We’d need to move fast and a festival take a lot of time to set up.”
“I mean, we get enough people on board, I can’t see why we can have it ready to go by, next Friday, the 10th?” Dahlia cuts in to help, that’d give them a little over a week, short notice but not impossible.
“You planning on helping?”
“Of course,”Dahlia beams, but no reason she can’t volunteer some more help, she throws an arm over Pratt’s shoulder, “we’d both be happy to help anyway we can.”
“What?” Pratt asks blankly and she just gives him a friendly smack on the chest, if he can force her into a church barbecue, she can damn well rope him into helping a local business.
“Well then, I think next Friday could work,” Doug admits.
“We could hold it Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. An entire weekend for everyone to come together, have some fun and maybe save this place,” Debbie tells him, smiling wide.
“Okay, lets do it.”
“Hell yeah.” Dahlia grins, the formerly frustrated and desperate couple are now smiling bright as can be. Warmth is burning in the rookie deputy’s chest, proud that she can help them get those smiles back.
“Yeah…well, guess I can help,” Pratt admits, still glaring at Dahlia in his peripheral, she’s just amazed he hasn’t pushed her off of him yet.
“I’ll try to talk to Casey tonight, if the bars too busy, I’ll try tomorrow. Then I’ll get in touch with Chad, ask around about music, games, anything we could need.”
“Gotta find a way to advertise it.”
“I’ll figure it out,” Dahlia tells them, confident she can put it together, “you guys worry about getting the orchard set up, getting food, cider, prices, and all that figured out. And if you need anything just call down to the station and ask for Rook.”
“Thank you, seriously, both of you.”
“No problem,” Pratt says, though there’s a sigh in his voice, “our probie here just loves to help people.”
“Well, it is my job, speaking of which, you said the church is blocking the roads?”
“Yeah, our trucks can’t even get a shipment out.”
“Do you know where they’re set up?”
“Yeah, the road that leads from Holland valley out to Missoula, if you follow it far enough, why?”
“Public roads legally can’t be blocked,” Pratt explains for her.
“So, we’re gonna pay them a quick visit.”
“Thanks again, we’ll be in touch, Deputy.”
They wave off the couple, saying their goodbyes as they climb back into the cruiser. A beat of silence passes without Pratt starting the engine.
“What the fuck, Rook?”
“What?”
“You know your getting yourself into deep shit, right? Pissing off the church right after they helped you out?”
“Them helping me out ain’t a free pass to do whatever they want. I can get along with someone and still hold them accountable for their bullshit. They have no right trying to railroad Debbie and Doug like that.”
“And you have no right dragging me into it.”
“You volunteered me for the fuckin’ church barbecue.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“We were off the clock, not work hours.”
“What about trying to pressure me into going to the Rye barbecue, while at Redlers, technically on the clock.”
“That was also different.”
“How?”
“’Cause you’re the rookie and I’m allowed to be mean to you.”
“No, that is not how that works!”
“Is too, the entire point of hiring rookie cops is to hassle them, you don’t get to hassle back.”
“Well, too bad, fucker we’re throwing an apple festival.”
“Jesus christ.”
“It’ll be fun.”
“It’ll be a pain in my ass,” he says, grumbling as he starts the engine, taking off out of the orchard.
Dahlia sticks her tongue out at him as they wind through the roads. Apple trees become the usual firs and pines, road signs starting to indicate they’re in route to Missoula. The young deputy watches the woods pass by, where the trees meet the blue sky, farmland occasionally breaking the landscape with cows meandering around.
It’s not long before they come to a stop and sure enough, large slabs of concrete are across the roadway. White trucks bearing the Eden’s Gate symbol are slotted behind them, black flags with the symbol in white stream from the back, and sturdier white vans are nearby as well. Members of the church are gathered there, woman with overgrown hair and men with hairy faces, a few she recognizes. All looking at the stopped cruiser with some measure of anger or worry.
“Hey, deputy,” it’s Waylon who greets Dahlia, smiling at her, “what seems to be the issue?”
“Your blocking public roads,” Pratt is the one to answer.
“Oh, see the thing if, the church is having some property worked on nearby. So, we really can’t have anyone driving through here, it’s temporary of course.”
“You can’t do that, though,” Dahlia explains, “if you need to fence off private property, you need to do it along the property line. Unless you have permission from the state, you cannot block public road access.”
“Deputy please, surely you understand.”
“Waylon,” she puts a hand on his shoulder, “you know we get along and I don’t have anything against the church, but blocking the road affects everyone else. If you really need roads blocked off, you need to contact the right people and get permits first, okay?”
“Understood.”
“Okay, then, just clear out and everything will be fine.”
He doesn’t seem happy, none of the church members do, but that’s the rules. She can’t even understand why’d they ever need to block the roads, if she didn’t know any better she’d think they were trying to keep people from leaving.
They drive the trucks and vans away; Dahlia and Pratt even helping move the concrete blockades off the road. Why do they even have those?
There’s still a sour note in the air once the block is cleared and the deputies have pulled away. She hates this weird back and forth; the church helping her but then doing something that gives her reason to doubt them. Wanting to be their friend but needing to put her foot down; wanting them and both the people who hate them to like her. Torn between the two as well as her child; like an unfortunate child in the midst of their parent’s divorce and she’s being forced to choose one.
It’s getting close to evening, when they pull up to the station to put in the report. The usual folks are in the bullpen, Hudson working at her computer with a mug of coffee and Brennan at his desk as well. The faces she’s come to know the best outside of Pratt. He plops himself down into his chair at his desk and Dahlia decides to grab another energy drink from the kitchen first.
She’s managed to rummage through the collection of tana cola bottle to find it, cracking it open with a yawn as she leaves the kitchen.
“…it wouldn’t have been so bad if Rook didn’t volunteer me for some bullshit.”
“Don’t be so fucking dramatic.”
“Jesus fuck,” Pratt jolts in his chair, nearly toppling it over, “that’s it, we’re getting you a god damn bell!”
“Didn’t know you were into that, Staci,” Brennan says with a snicker.
“Shut up.”
“Oh, please, no one’s buying it,” Hudson says, rolling her eyes.
“There’s nothing to buy, Rook is an annoying shit, who just grabbed me and volunteered me for bullshit.”
“You’re such a baby.”
Dahlia reaches out and flicks his ear, laughing when Pratt grabs her hand, fingers intertwining as he tries to push her back. She brings her other hand up, trying to reach out and flick him with her other hand. But he grabs it in the same way, the two pushing against each other, both grinning like children. She’s not even sure what the goal is and Pratt probably doesn’t either. But then his office chair wheels slide back from the force and she’s found a goal, pushing Pratt across the room. No particular reason for it other than the idea of watching him sail across the bullpen makes her giggle. But he won’t let go of her hands enough that she can push him without him dragging her too.
“The hell are you two doing?” Whitehorse’s voice booms out when he walks in to see the two deputies horsing around.
“Being idiots.”
“I don’t know, looks like flirting to me.”
Hudson’s insult and Brennan’s teasing makes red flush up the two bickering deputy’s cheeks. They’re technically holding hands and leaning into each other’s personal space, Dahlia realizes. Pratt suddenly drops her hands, jolting away as if her skin has burnt his, and pushing his chair away from her. Nearly toppling over a trashcan in his haste.
“Yeah why the hell you holding my hand, Rookie?”
“You grabbed my hand first, asshole!”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
“You did.”
“You absolutely did.”
Hudson and Brennan agree with Dahlia, Pratt’s face going from pink to scarlet. Whitehorse rolls his eyes, no doubt questioning his hiring decisions. How any of them still have jobs is a mystery, except Hudson.
“How’d things go at the orchard?” The sheriff asks, adjusting his cowboy hat. He really does look like such a stereotype.
“We couldn’t find any evidence of who broke into the office, they grabbed the key, so I told Doug he should look into changing the locks and investing in some security cameras. They’re dead set on it being John or someone with the church though,” Pratt explains, rolling his chair back up to his desk.
“You know it was,” Brennan scoff, “damn church is destroying the whole county.”
“Now, now, you can’t go making accusations without evidence, I just hope Debbie and Doug can bounce back.”
Dahlia doesn’t miss the roll of Brennan’s eyes and the sneer on his lips, he doesn’t like Eden’s Gate or Whitehorse’s attitude towards them it seems. She’s rarely seen the officer without a smile, but lips curled and leg bouncing, he seems a moment away from flipping the desk in front of him.
“Well, if Rook’s plan works, they’ll do fine.”
“Your plan?” Whitehorse looks at her with a raised eyebrow; her fellow deputies and Brennan all look at her expectantly as well. She scratches at the back of her neck, skin prickling at the attention.
“Oh, uh…well, I figured they could do like an apple festival, be fun for the county and help raise some money for ‘em.”
“That the plan you were bitching about, Pratt?” Brennan raises an eyebrow at him.
“It’s a pain in the ass and the Seed family is gonna be pissed.”
“So, apple pie and pissing off the Seeds, I’m fuckin’ sold,” Brennan sticks his fist out to Dahlia and she bumps her knuckles to his, grinning, “anything I can help with, just say the word.”
“Seriously, see why can’t you be my partner?”
“Hey, rude.”
“’Cause we’d never get Pratt to stop whining about it.”
“What the hell, you’re suppose to be on my side, Beau.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to that.”
“I’m willing to help out too if I can,” Hudson cuts in between the banter, eyes soft, “I still remember going apple picking there with my family, I don’t wanna see Doug and Debbie lose that place.”
“Yeah…that place has a lot of memories for everyone,” Pratt admits, hazel eyes deepening with nostalgia.
“Still remember the first year you came with us,” Hudson grins, “Mark tried to lift you up to grab an apple and you just started sobbing.”
“Your brother was trying to kill me and I stand by that,” Pratt smiles as he pretends to defend himself.
“When are Deb and Doug planning on having the festival?” Whitehorse asks Dahlia.
“Aiming for the next Friday, the 10th, they wanna see if they can do it the whole weekend too.”
“Lot of work to get done if that’s gonna happen.”
“I know, I’m planning on talking to Casey as soon as I can. See if he’ll help cook and if there’s any testy festy supplies or vendors he can help with.”
“Mary May has a live band that plays once a week, they might be willing to play,” Hudson offers.
“Think they’d work cheap or free? I’d hate to stiff anyone and I’ll pay whatever I have too out of my own pocket, but the last thing we want is the festival costing more than it makes,” Dahlia explains, leaning against the wall as she talks it out.
“If they’re not willing to work any or all of it, we could always talk to Wheaty too.”
“Wheaty?”
“Kid who lives up North,” Brennan points in the general North direction, “he’s been obsessed with starting a radio station for years, he’ll basically DJ anything for free just to show off his vinyl collection.”
“That could work too.”
“Addie would probably help with money for it, honestly, just throw some advertisements up for the Marina.”
“Hell, if me and Staci ask her, she’d probably do it anyway,” Brennan gives a wide toothy smile.
“Gross, but true.”
“Didn’t Grace use to do those shooting competitions at fairs and shit, letting people pay to try and outshoot her?”
“Yeah,” Hudson nods to Pratt’s suggestion, “she hates the attention, but if it’s for a good cause I’m sure she’d do it.”
“I don’t think the Fowler brothers would bring Cheeseburger, since they gotta watch what he eats, but they might be willing to bring down some animals for people to see.”
“Hell, if we could convince Rae Rae to bring Boomer; people will show up just get a picture of him.”
“Pie eating contest would draw people in too.”
“Lorna would probably make pasties for it if we asked.”
Dahlia can’t help but grin at all the ideas and suggestions; a fire seemingly ignited in everyone. There’s a warmth in her chest and a swelling sense of pride that she could get everyone on board. The orchard means a lot to the county, not just Debbie and Doug. And she may actually be able to save it.
“Woah woah, hold on now,” Whitehorse calls out and Dahlia stiffens, this technically isn’t police work, “is anyone writing all this down? Not gonna do anyone a lick of good if we forget something.”
He smiles, blue eyes soft as Hudson grabs a piece of paper, writing down the ideas that’ve been said so far. Whitehorse is giving his stamp of approval and that pride in her chest only swells bigger, thumping against her ribs and making her smile widen.
“Rook.”
“Yes, sheriff?”
“As long as you keep an ear to your radio, don’t see any reason you can’t work on some of this during work, alright?”
“Yeah, absolutely.”
“Good, Debbie and Doug deserve the best and we’re damn well gonna give it to ‘em, that’s an order.”
The sheriff ruffles her hair before he leaves and her face hurts from smiling so much. She pulls up a chair to the desk, sitting with Hudson, Pratt, and Brennan as they keep working on ideas. All four stay past their shift hours; scribbling down all possible ideas, who they should reach out to and who should be the one to talk to them. Dahlia smiling the entire time as they talk late into the evening.
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Chunky Bracelets
I was gonna only do half of this today but then I finished it.
Summary: Icy reflects on her past; decidedly, it is better to do the victimizing than be the victim.
Self-harm mentions.
Sometimes the face reflected in the glass isn’t the one she wants. Sometimes the face in the mirror seems unnatural, like it shouldn’t be. And maybe that’s because it is. It was different some time ago...a long time ago now.
Icy rummages through her drawer and finds her favorite eyeshadow, her mascara, and her eyeliner. She draws it on thick and winged, accents her lashes, and adds a soft tint to her lips. Sometimes she chooses black or a deep navy blue, but today she is feeling for something lighter. Something like first frost on the grass.
She fixes her hair into it’s high ponytail and accents it with diamonds, some faux and some real.
Her work is done.
She is nothing like she was back then.
And she should be glad for it. There was nothing to like about her back then. Not her weird interests, not her awkward personality, and certainly not her looks--the way she dressed, her unkept, unwashed hair. Those ridiculous glasses and those painful braces.
She taps her eyeliner pencil against her chin; she could probably make it work now. The outfit anyhow. She thinks that her style of dress wouldn’t have been so terrible had it not clashed with whatever the hell had been going on with her face and personality.
Chunky studded bracelets clamped over blue and black arm warmers that fit too loosely around her arms paired with a ridiculously oversized muscle tank top--she can’t remember which band logo it had boasted. Ripped skinny jeans--they would have been anyhow if they weren’t so baggy on her--tucked into studded combat boots.
Yes, she could make that work now.
But they didn’t sit well with braces, and glasses, and tangled hair. They were worn even worse on someone who stuttered through every conversation. Someone who rambled on about stupid things like snowglobe collections, famous brooms used by famous witches, and bands that no one else cared about.
She runs the comb through her hair until it is silky and immaculate. Until she has worked any trace of that person out with the knots. She doesn’t think about that person often. She tries to think none of her at all. Even still, after so long, and even in private solitude, it brings color to her pale cheeks.
Icy had been such an easy target, she doesn’t blame the lot of them. She wasn’t their favorite; their favorite was a short chubby girl with awful hand-eye coordination and a habit of stumbling over her own feet. But she was a good second.
They had many names for her but mostly she was a poser. A wannabe. An abomination to the punk-rock scene.
And her lyrics were just as absurd. Solstice had made that clear enough when she snagged her notebook and read them all out loud.
“Sing for us, Icy!” She shouted. “We want a concert!”
She did.
She isn’t sure what she thought she would accomplish. Maybe she thought that she would have been a phenomenal singer, that she would have showed them all. And maybe she would have if she hadn’t been red-faced and anxious. Her song was shaky and off key.
She never sang again.
Never wanted to.
For a time she unclasped the studded bracelets and swapped her skinny jeans for plain blue jeans. She traded her tank tops for oversized plaid sweaters in a soft baby blue. Somehow that made things worse.
And of course that did. She was no longer a wannabe but a full blown dork. She supposes that at least the style had fit the person.
She picks through her closet for something to wear. She isn’t sure if she wants to go for the pastel goth aesthetics or something darker, something old school--batcave maybe. But then she’d have to break out the hairspray and style it all over again.
She transferred schools after that year. When they started throwing things at her and crafting little ornaments to hang in her hair she had requested the transfer. Her requests went ignored until she got careless--until her sleeve fell back and they found the scars.
She runs her fingers over them. Where they would be if she hadn’t tattooed over them. If she can’t see them, then they aren’t there. If they aren’t there then she never had a reason to put them there. If she never had a reason to put them there then she was never anything but suave and cool, smooth and confident.
The school that she was transferred to was smaller. Private. It wasn’t even in her home realm. She tried many styles then; one week she was preppy, the next she tried for something more sporty, and the week after that was whatever everyone else was wearing.
And then she settled on simply being a punk-rock poser again. At least that took little effort and acting.
There is something poetic about that, she knows.
She settles for pastel goth today, it goes well with her hair. She holds the dress against her body. Her elegant, slender body. There is a soft shimmer to her skin. Her skin has always had a shimmer to it. She studies the mirror again. Her cheeks are sculpted just as elegantly, her eyes are framed with makeup instead of glasses. Her hair falls over her shoulder in long, groomed waves.
She has a pretty face.
She likes to think that it is well earned.
She has earned her right to look down on the frizzy-haired and the bespectacled. She has earned her right to mock fareries that are too fat for their wings and witches that are skinnier than their broomsticks. She has earned her right to torment those who need to get themselves together.
She is glamorous. She has status. She has earned her right…
And yet she feels hollow.
Fake.
It is a nagging and persistent itch that is ever present each time she opens her mouth to let one of those loathsome pixies know that they are weak. She is fake. It is all a lie.
She tugs her dress on and steps out into the hallway.
“Oh perfect, you’re just on time!” Stormy greets.
“We were just reminding Mirta that she doesn’t belong here.” Darcy adds.
The girl is cornered. Icy rolls her eyes. The girl makes it too easy. Laughably easy. She is wearing Lucy’s arm warmers. She squeezes her eyes shut and covers her ears with her hands. Her fingernails are painted in an alternating red and black.
“She doesn’t need the reminder, she already knows.” Icy shrugs. “Don’t you, Mirta?”
“Y-yes.”
Icy rolls her eyes. “Then what are you doing here? This is a school for witches not, whatever the hell you are.”
“She’s a fairy in a witch’s clothing.” Stormy remarks.
“A poser.” Darcy comments, quirking a perfectly penciled brow.
A poser…
Icy folds her arms over her chest.
She doesn’t think much of it throughout the day. She doesn’t think of it at all, really. Not until she makes it back to the dorm.
And then she doesn’t stop thinking about it.
And the more she thinks about it, the more she thinks that she had made a mistake. She isn’t sure which kind or when exactly she had made it. But when she stands in front of the mirror and scrubs her eye makeup away, she is damn near certain that she has.
Sometimes when she stares for too long at her bare face she sees an awkward girl with glasses and braces and messy hair.
And sometimes when she stares for much too long, she misses that person. That kinder person. That lanky girl with the arm warmers, studded bracelets, and oversized shirt.
That stupid girl who--rather poorly--played the guitar in a stupid garage band.
“Hey.” Darcy leans in the door frame. “We’re going to the bar. You coming?”
“Let me reapply my makeup.”
“We still have to get ready too.” Stormy shrugs.
Icy wanders back to her closet.
To the very back of it; he tugs on the arm warmers, clamps on those chunky studded bracelets.
For old time’s sake, she tells herself.
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Request: Lucien always wanted to tell his feelings to the bushman but is too shy to, so he always spoke it to him in french, knowing the other man couldn't understand. He gets a surprise when Mundy responds to him back in french. Turns out he's been learning french just to understand the Spy, and has returned his feelings for a long time now.
Here it is! I hope you’ll enjoy it :D
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in."
The door creaked as the tall man peeked in.
"Hey, Spook."
"Come in, mon beau."
[My handsome one.]
Sniper entered completely and shut the door after him. Spy knew he didn't understand when he spoke French. Sniper just assumed it all meant 'my friend' or something similar, no doubt.
"Take a seat, coffee is almost ready." Spy said as he exited his kitchen with a tray in his hand.
They both sat on the sofa and Spy put the tray down. Two mugs were on it: a blue one, and a white one with '#1 Sniper' written on it in bold red, capital letters.
"Oh, you got my mug?" Sniper asked.
"From the common kitchen, I hope you don't mind?"
"Nah, it's alright."
"Thanks. Give me a second, I shall get the coffee."
"Sure."
A few moments later, they were both enjoying a warm mug of coffee.
"Hm, that's a fruity one you got there, Spook."
"Oui, indeed. I like this blend of beans and I wanted you to try it. Last week's one was a bit too strong so I thought it might be better to try a lighter, more colourful one."
"Yeah, tastes really good."
"Oh, by the way, do you have time to stay a bit longer today?" Spy asked.
"Ah, uh, yeah, yeah. I have all the afternoon to myself today." Sniper answered before they both took a sip.
It was true that very frequently now, Sniper would stay only for a short moment with Spy. He would then excuse himself and Spy would hear the sound of the van driving off. Where Sniper was going was beyond Spy. Maybe he had someone in his life? Someone he preferred over Spy…?
"And talking about colourful, your mug's quite bright." Sniper's voice broke Spy's train of voice.
"Lagoon blue," Spy added, "le bleu de tes yeux."
[The shade of blue of your eyes.]
They exchanged a smile.
"Sounds nice when you speak French." Sniper said.
"Does it?"
"Yeah, quite soothing to the ear." Sniper looked down at his mug to not feel Spy's gaze weigh too much on him.
Spy smiled. Sniper was of course oblivious to all the sweet nothings that Spy was telling him, and that was the point. Spy's heart fluttered at the mere sight of Sniper's hat. He loved the man, oui, he loved him romantically, passionately. He was in love with the hat, the glasses, the sideburns and the hoarse voice. But he didn't know how or if he should tell him. So he resorted to this absurd way, to tell him in French such that it got out of his chest but Sniper wouldn't understand.
"Shall I then treat you to a poem, mon ange? It would be in French, of course." Spy offered.
[My angel]
"Oh…" Sniper's eyebrows jumped. "You know some?"
"But of course. There is one that became so popular that it got translated into English and transformed into a song. You call it 'Autumn leaves' I think."
"Oh yeah, it's quite well known." Sniper recalled. "Yeah, go ahead, I'm listening."
Spy cleared his throat and shook his head to put himself in the right state of mind. He calmed his breath and soon started reciting.
"Oh, je voudrais tant que tu te souviennes
[Oh, I would love for you to remember]
Des jours heureux où nous étions amis
[Those happy days when we were friends.]
En ce temps-là la vie était plus belle
[Back then, life was prettier]
Et le soleil plus brûlant qu'aujourd'hui"
[And the sun more scorching than today]
Sniper listened carefully. He liked the rhythm and music of it.
"C'est une chanson qui nous ressemble
[It's a song that resembles us]
Toi tu m'aimais, et je t'aimais
[You, who loved me, and me, who loved you]
Nous vivions tous les deux ensemble
[We used to live together, the two of us]
Toi qui m'aimais, moi qui t'aimais
[You, who loved me, and me, who loved you]"
Sniper leaned back and saw Spy close his eyes. His voice was enchanting him. He felt as if he was floating on a cloud, in the sky, Spy's voice carrying him in weightlessness, his ears tickling him on the inside…
"Mais la vie sépare ceux qui s'aiment
[But life separates those who love each other]
Tout doucement, sans faire de bruit
[Very softly, without making a noise]
Et la mer efface sur le sable
[And the sea washes away on the sand]
Les pas des amants désunis"
[The footsteps of broken lovers]
Spy paused and opened his eyes slowly. Sniper saw his eyelids open, his eyelashes brushee the air softly and his irises finally showed, shining as mysteriously as the sun in the early hours in the morning. His pupils moved and connected with Sniper's.
"What do you think of the music of it?" Spy asked.
"It's… It's beautiful… And the way you recited it... You looked like you felt the lyrics. Look!" Sniper rolled up his sleeve. "I still have the goosebumps!"
Spy smiled, with half of his mouth and tilted his head on the side.
"I indeed felt the meaning of it, mon trésor."
[My treasure]
He relaxed and Sniper could feel it in his guts. The power of Spy's voice, only he could use his voice and beguile Sniper like that…
"Should I translate it for you? You might be wondering what I have been talking about, as I imagine it all sounded like gibberish to you." He chuckled.
"No." Sniper answered and Spy's chuckle stopped sharp.
He raised a curious eyebrow.
"You prefer to keep it mysterious?" Spy asked.
"No, I got it. I mean, well, I understood the rough idea at least." Sniper answered.
"What?" Spy's surprise was painted all over his face.
"It's about two people who used to love each other and got separated by life." Sniper scratched his head. "And then something about the sea wiping out their footsteps in the sand."
Spy's jaw had dropped. If Sniper had understood the poem, surely that meant that he had understood all the sweet things that he had been telling him…?
"I uh, yeah, all those times I had to go away early from you… I was takin' night classes in uh, in French… I've been working my arse off to try and understand you. I've got tons of books and cassette tapes in the van now, heh…"
"You understand French?" Spy asked, horrified and as red as a brick.
"Now, yeah, a bit better."
"Merde…" Spy put a hand on his mouth and lowered his head.
[Shit…]
"Well, that's not a word they teach us in the classes, but I know what it means." Sniper tried to lighten up the atmosphere.
"I…" Spy didn't know what to say. Should he apologise? Should he explain himself? Non, doing that meant admitting his feelings to Sniper. He couldn't do that, he wasn't ready, no one was. Spy loosened the knot of his tie slightly and pulled on his collar to get more air. He was sweating bullets. It was a lot, too much, and he slammed a hand on his eyes to hide himself.
"Spook? You alright?"
"You… You've been understanding me for how long now?"
"A few weeks only. The words you usually use with me aren't those we started the lessons with so it took me some time to understand. Mon ange is my angel, mon trésor is my treasure, mon beau is my handsome one and I think the bit you said about your mug was uh, well, you compared it to the colour of my eyes…" Sniper chuckled out of nervousness and put a hand behind his neck.
"I… I'm sorry Sniper. I… It was ridiculous, I just - Argh, nevermind what I wanted, now I need to apologise and please, if you want to leave, I won't hold you back unnecessarily and I am putting an end to all this nonsense" Spy still hid his ashamed eyes behind his gloved hand.
"Spook…"
The Frenchman felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Moi aussi, uh, uhm… Moi aussi je te trouve beau."
[Me too, uh, uhm… I also find you handsome.]
Sniper managed to collect his vocabulary and grammar.
"I hope I didn't make too many mistakes, eh. I'm much better at understandin' than speaking. But uh, yeah, what I meant was-"
"You also find me handsome?" Spy removed his hand from his eyes and looked at Sniper with wide, surprised eyes.
Sniper nodded as his cheeks turned a bit more pink.
"You're, yeah, you look good even with the mask on. Tu as… uhm… de très beaux yeux… uh… très… impressive?"
[You have… very beautiful eyes… very…]
"Impressionnant. The word for 'impressive' is 'impressionnant'. Do you really think what you just said?" Spy asked.
Sniper scooted closer to Spy on the sofa and his hand brushed Spy's back.
"Y-yeah." He looked away and nodded.
"Sniper, I…"
Sniper's head pivoted and his eyes met Spy's hypnotic ice blue ones. The rest of the sentence was hard to push out.
"I…" Spy's mouth was too dry and he couldn't even gulp down.
"Me too." Sniper said, his breath gone ever since Spy's eyes stared at him that way.
Their heads moved closer, their eyes moving from each other's to their noses and their lips. They could hear the other's heartbeat through their parted lips.
But their eyes closed. They couldn't see what would happen next.
Sniper's hand slid down Spy's back and Spy's gloved hands found themselves on the cheeks with the sideburns.
"Je t'aime."
[I love you.]
It was a whisper, with an English accent.
"I love you."
And the answer came with a French twist.
Their lips shyly met. They were shaking. But as soon as they did meet, both Sniper and Spy relaxed, and melted into each other's arms. Their hands brushed the fabrics and the skin that they had yearned to hold, their lips went limp on the lips that they had yearned to kiss, for so long…!
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Chapter 9: A Witness and Witless
Chapter summary: A realisation for Alexis, kindly dished by Captain Price. Meanwhile, danger is the gift that keeps on giving. (3284 words).
Warnings: N/A.
29 October 2019, 0500
"Alexis" and "Alex" | Codename Aces
CIA with SAS and Urzik militia
Sakhra, Urzikstan
Having her forehead split open had its benefit. Okay, maybe that was arguable, but Alexis was mildly grateful that the unbearable stings stirred her awake. It saved from her reliving a gauche situation: sleeping limbs entangled with her best friend, who she almost kissed, again.
They were practically squashed together, her head pillowed against his firm chest. Seeing how paranoid and sharp to his surroundings Alex was, his iron grips were challenging to snake out of it, good thing she had practice.
Here, at 5 am, while others were desperately chasing some sleep, Alexis was too engrossed in her own thoughts. The past 24 hours happened like a flash, and the Wolf was her highlight, making her fidget uncomfortably just at the thought.
You should have fought harder, been stronger, not falter at his baseless threats. Alexis had no one but herself to blame for allowing the Wolf to escape. The guilt her mistake carried fuelled the fire inside her, with revenge as additional gasoline to the mix.
The Chinese had a saying: "for what you do upon me, I'd unleash it ten times worse." Omar Sulaman would regret ever threatening her.
Seeking refuge under a dying tree at the residence's courtyard, she brooded in reflection. At least she figured out an end goal for the Wolf, but the friendship between Alex and her was shaky, at best. Alexis released an exhale of pent-up frustration, fingers weaving her chocolate locks into a braid. So immersed with overthinking, she almost failed to catch Price's approaching footsteps.
"No rest for the wicked, eh?" He arched a concerned brow at her stitches.
Alexis cracked a smile, "'Course." Patting beside her, she gestured for Price to take a seat with her on the patch of dried grass. "Please, don't be a nanny. Just sit down."
"Fantastic. I'm in no mood for that either," Price replied. His face briefly caught silvers of golden rays, accentuating the eye bags and fine lines that revealed just how much Price had aged since their last encounter. Even without the combat vest, his broad shoulders remained permanently slouched.
Alexis smelled smoke before the wisps floated past her. Witnessing how it relaxed Price, she shuts her mouth. "Something wrong?" she guessed, feeling the passing smoke layer her tongue with a woody fragrance, suddenly feeling the need to spit.
"The Butcher... Bastard didn't even spare a kid." Price took another deep inhale.
Alexis sighed, "We'll make him pay."
"Damn right." The price of war was a hefty one. And Alexis idolised John Price for his unwavering tenacity. By far, he was the most unbreakable person she'd ever met.
"So..." Alexis steered the topic, "What cover story did you tell Maddox and Forbes this time?"
Price scoffed lightly, a light-hearted undertone in his words, "Ah, I didn't bother. Bloody bitch about it, is all they do." Though Price, Maddox and Forbes all knew each other, Alexis always questioned what kind of Doomsday loomed over the world for a SAS Captain, Task Force Black's commander and a CIA handler to cross paths. Candidly, it made her excited to know why.
"Something going on between you and Alex?" Price questioned abruptly.
"I don't know what you're talking about." She confidently lied, ignoring the tingling sensation on her lips.
"For your sake, I hope you lie better when you're on the job," he mocked. Did she develop a tell? How did Price always know?
"Ah, it's just a bunch of gossips, don't feed into it."
"It's a reliable source," that piqued her curiosity.
"Kyle," she deadpanned, twisting her body towards Price. "Call MacTavish, I'm gonna skin Kyle alive."
Price hummed, giving her an amused look, "That'd be a waste of talent. So it's true, you two dating?"
She didn't even know the answer herself, so she replied with something safe, "We're friends, always have been." Her gaze averted to the small wildflowers blossoming under the base of the tree she leaned on. Chrysanthemums, its deep red petals swaying gently against the wind currents, almost like a greeting wave. Alexis scratched her head at the timely symbolism.
"Don't get stupid, you know better than most that nothing lasts forever," Price chided with a distant look in his eyes. "That boy looks at you like there isn't a war waging on."
Alexis sighed, twirling the stalks of red chrysanthemum hesitantly, "That's the problem. Wars are happening, it's selfish."
The Captain huffed almost disappointedly, "There's always a war. You see something you want, you best hold onto it before something blows it up."
"Shouldn't you advise me against fraternisation, Captain?" She smiled.
Staggered smokes escaped when Price let out a short laugh, "Whoever tries to boss you around is an idiot. Do I look like one?"
"No, no you're not," she chuckled, always finding wisdom in Price's words. So when he told her the way Alex looked at her wasn't platonic, she believed him. Not like it was unbelievable or anything. The way he tirelessly searched for her in a crowd every few moments—then smile when their gaze meets. With ample practices over the years, she'd successfully ignored how much he burned her insides with a simple look.
Now, maybe she didn't need to.
Alexis was always more of a spy than a soldier—at least, that was what Maddox always said about her. A natural God instinct to read the room, practically able to smell the changes like a bloodhound. Yet she was slow to pick up on the change in their friendship.
Slow, and a little reluctant. Now that she opened the floodgates that she guarded for so long, every possible feeling punched their way to her heart.
She was still in love with Alex. A chilling sensation ran over her spine when she inwardly admitted that. It puzzled her if it was relief or nerves? Either way, it jolted a new kind of excitement in her. Every exhale felt lighter.
"And what about you and Laswell?" Alexis retorted smugly, enjoying the rare stunned expression that slipped onto her mentor's face. "C'mon, give me some credit. The most impressive agent you've ever come across, right? I read your debrief about me from the Caucasus mission."
At his threatening frown, she held up surrendering hands, "Alright, alright! I'm done here."
Price ignored her teases, stubbing out his cigar at the base of the tree. "The Caucasus... That's what, 7 years ago? You just made JSOC back then."
Alexis cackled at the memory, "Back then you didn't have this glorious moustache. Remember when I pulled a knife on Mactavish?"
"Scared the lad shitless. Didn't show it, but sure as well saw it," Price continued, a smirk present on his face.
"I sure as hell felt it. Mactavish's pulse was jumping." Then she paused, realising Price purposely dodged her questions. So she tried again, "Don't avoid my questions, I'm a great matchmaker!"
He shot her a look, "Says the oblivious fool."
"Touche. But still-"
Luckily, Hadir spotted them, sliding open the residence's glass door and jogged up to them. "Oh, Hadir! Thank goodness you're here, Price was about to murder me."
Hadir squinted in confusion. "Ignore her," Price got to his feet and dusted the grass off his camo pants, sending the gleeful agent a hard glare. "Lass hit her head too hard, she's spewing rubbish. Careful, Hadir." He patted Hadir's back and started to head back to the house.
"C'mon mate!" Alexis yelled after him with a butchered English accent. "I said I'm sorry!" She laughed at Price's slightly gapped mouth.
"Did I mention?" His hands steadied against the sliding door, "You're benched!"
With that, Price slid the glass door closed, wearing an amused expression as she yelled pleads after him with no avail. "Petty old fellow."
Hadir sat on Price's previous spot, gracing her with a chocolate bar. Unlike commercial ones, military chocolate hardly tasted edible—for somebody who hated chocolates, it was a torture to sink her teeth into the hard cocoa blocks. "Hadir, you couldn't find anything else?"
"It's chocolate!"
"You think."
His enthusiasm didn't die down as he chowed down his own energy bar, but after a few chews, Hadir promptly stuck out his tongue in disgust, earning a burst of hearty laughter from Alexis, "People eat this?"
"Dumb soldiers do. But the smart ones..." Alexis pulled out a packet of biscuits from the side pocket of her pants, wiggling in front of Hadir. She snatched the cup of hot water from him and dunked the biscuits in, much to his protests. Seconds later, the biscuit softened to a texture that resembled a sponge cake. Alexis urged the wide-eyed Hadir to take a bite.
Hadir was sceptical until he tried it, pleasantly surprised. He praised, "Finally, some food fit for humans!"
"Genius, right?" He nodded in agreement, passing her the cup to share. "And I can see that look in your eyes that you want to ask if I'm okay, so answer your question: I'm fine, although I'm sick of people asking me that. Thinking about tattooing the answer across my forehead, wanna help?"
"Horrible idea... Count me in. But no, not your injuries, here," he pointed at his heart. "You feel bad for letting the Wolf go, I know. It's not your fault, Alena– Alexis," he corrected. "Your names are confusing."
The smirk on her face faltered slightly. Though it quickly returned, Hadir already saw the cracks in her smile. Then she decided not to bother with the facade. "I should have fought harder. I imagine there are people who should be alive right now if not for me."
"Like I said, not your fault. In all my years, you got my sister and me closer than we've ever been to end this war... We've lost many brothers and sisters to get to this point. Between Barkov and the Wolf, I'm not sure which of these dogs are worse." His words had a certain edge in them, reminding her how much this war changed Hadir. "But they are not careless men. Why did the Wolf keep you alive?"
"Said he wanted to watch me suffer," Alexis answered honestly, hesitantly taking another bite of her dessert. "Jokes on him. I'm gonna crush him. We're gonna fucking crush them."
Hadir pulled his legs closer to his chest, returning a small smile when she rested a comforting hand on his knees, "With a big enough stone, right?"
"Damn right."
━━━━━━
Even with the miraculous arrival of a second chance, it doesn't mean Alexis made it easy. Now was the perfect example for his argument.
"Maybe you did hit your head too hard—look in the mirror and tell me if you see a large cut across your forehead, because I might be seeing things." He pinched his nose bridge in distress. Price had tasked the very injured Alexis to sweep houses with Bravo Team, take it easy and all.
Alexis wore a polite smile and calmly said, "Fuck you."
"How eager," he retorted, knowing just the way to irk her.
She threw up her trusty middle finger, "Hard pass."
Really? She thought, playing hard to get is so 2002, Alexis.
"Really?" He moved closer, and except for a hardened face, Alexis did nothing to stop him. Trapped between Alex and a table, she breathily observed the blue flecks in his irises, avoiding his alluring pink lips that was definitely calling to her. "Trouble breathing?"
Alexis swallowed her nerves, "The only trouble I'm having is my lack of personal space."
"Ouch..." His head fell defeatedly on her shoulder, chuckling. "Lexi, honey..." he gilded, eyes boring into her own. She kept still and bit her tongue at the pet name, watching his gaze travel down her face, maybe her lips.
Alex pressed more of his weight against her, "Be a good girl for me. Consider I said please."
Her heart quickened, sparing a quick glance at the wide-open door full of Marines who stood oblivious to their actions, but if they continued standing in this position, it was just a matter of time. "You're adding to the rumours..."
"So everybody thinks we're dating, big deal." He slammed the door shut to prove a point.
Are we? What is this between us?
She tasted the words on the tip of her tongue. Alex's flirting had become painfully obvious that she wasn't the sole player of this game anymore. And instead of addressing it, her wickedness took over—lightly chewing down her lips just to confirm her suspicions again.
A knowing smile slowly builds when he took the bait.
Alex blinked rapidly, retreating instantly. His attempt to clear his throat was pathetic, voice throaty as he said, "You're going with Bravo, no arguments."
"Like hell. The medic cleared me!"
Alex paused thoughtfully, rolling up his sleeves up his forearm. If this was his sly attempt to distract her, it worked. Reasons beyond her, his tattooed arms were incredibly attractive. "Was that before or after you threaten him?"
He didn't... Alexis recalled the easily convinced medic. Sue her for having a way with words. She smiled sweetly, refocusing on packing her combat bag, "You have no proof."
"Tell that to your face," he rolled his eyes. "Babe, come on, there's not enough time for me to tie you to a bed."
She'd admit to almost choking at his unexpected comment. Like a good spy, she hung a scowl at his charming smirk—refusing to play into his trap. Then, she internalised his appearance, styled hair, in the middle of a war. Still so vain. Probably trying to impress her, cute.
"Number one, you're god damn shameless–"
"I call it honesty," he shrugged.
"Outrageous, not to mention scandalous-" she corrected.
Alex huffed, throwing his head back briefly.
"Number two, I'm pretty sure Wade outside there, who was shot in the thigh is still on the mission. Talk about a double standard."
Usually, this danger zone was when Alex would back off. But today, she was convinced he had an intensified case of a stick up his ass. Still, he brazenly took the loaded magazines off her hands. "I'm trying to not treat you any differently from the boys, if that's what you're implying. I just don't want anything else to happen to you, Alexis."
"But I am different, Alex! I'm not the boys," the menace in her voice was hard to miss, a stark juxtaposition to the playfulness, "I don't want to be one of the boys. Read my damn resume, you really think this injury will be the one to do me in?" Her neck craned upwards to meet him, "I'm still standing. I can do this."
Alex finally uncrossed his arms and nodded, "Okay."
She cast a suspicious sideways glance, "That's it?"
Alex hummed– actually hummed this time. Her eyebrows shot heavenward, which amused him. "You expected a few more rounds, didn't you?" At her nod, "I trust you, that's all."
"Huh... Usually, you'd try harder. Say something melodramatic like: No, Alexis! You'll quite possibly die, bleed out to death–"
"Defamatory, I do not sound like that," he insisted upon her dramatic pause and casual dismissal of hands.
Alexis poked accusingly into his chest, "Something's wrong with you." He smirked like he knew something she didn't, and ironically, she did. You're not that slick, Romeo. Two can play this game.
"Funny. Here I thought a master profiler like yourself had better skills."
Part of her questioned if it was a double meaning, but shook it off. Grabbing her stolen magazines from his grasp, "Come on, we have a war to fight."
She wondered if Alex's blood had always run so hot when she reached over to grab his arm, surely she wasn't the only one who felt that. But Alex remained silent and allowed her to push him towards the door. They were about to step out until her satellite phone sounded. The two shared looks of caution at the odd notion, her phone hardly rang. Alex was the designated communication channel, and with Price's arrival, he carried that responsibility.
Unless it was an emergency... She quickly accepted the call. "This is a secured line, identify yourself and how you got this number."
"I have my ways. Good to hear you're still breathing."
Her shoulders relaxed, "Ruddiger. Why wouldn't I– Did something happen?"
"Saint, listen carefully, I don't have much time." She mumbled a quick apology before kicking him out the room.
"Okay, I'm ready."
"After you left, we got a tip about Valhalla's safe house. It was a scam to draw our attention away from Boucher." Her stomach clenched at the ominous feeling. "He's dead. Someone got to him."
"In the Hostel? That's not possible." The whole point of a Blacksite was that it didn't exist.
"It's true, Saint. I saw his body with my own eyes. We found a tracker—plastic polymer, explains why it didn't show up when we wanded him." He continued when Alexis didn't reply, "This shit gets worse. They got a list... Of everybody who's on the op."
Her heart stopped right then, "No fucking way. Where are you now? And wait, this is high-level intel, how do you-"
"I'm officially CIA, thanks to your glowing recommendation. So technically, I'm also here to say I owe you one. The welcoming committee sucks, they're putting us in safe houses. All except you."
Then Alex burst through the doors, signalling it was time to move, but paused at her ghastly face. She held up a shaky hand, "Well, fuck, mon sauveur, huh? Thanks for the intel, but you do know you just broke protocol?"
From the anxious rubs on her face, Alex knew something was really wrong.
Ruddiger laughed on the other line, "Consider it my gratitude for your olive branch. I gotta go. Stay safe, Saint. You'll never know how far Valhalla can reach."
"I'm in the middle of a war. He'll never find me here," she braved through the unsteadiness in her voice. When the call ended, she remained on the chair, still profoundly dumbstruck. She didn't know which was worse: that someone managed to infiltrate a Level 10 CIA blacksite, spooking Valhalla, or that her name was sitting somewhere on a hit list.
Another question bagged her, was it her real name? A thousand worries crashed down onto her. Why haven't Forbes or Maddox called?
"Hey," Alexis jumped at the touch, instilling more fret in Alex, who kneeled before her chair. "You're shaking. You okay?"
Alexis knew Alex wouldn't stop until he got an answer. Yet she couldn't give it to him, she'd put him in danger.
"Always," she mustered the biggest smile she could. And because of that, Alex saw right through her. But there wasn't time to dig further, they had a war to fight. Besides, for all she knew, she was safe, for now.
If Forbes or Maddox haven't called, it meant she was still safe. She'd focus on that.
When she wordlessly slung her rifle and holstered her guns, there was a heavier feeling bubbling inside her. Alexis didn't have a good omen, but she couldn't pinpoint if her gut was referring to today's war, or the brewing one.
Ah fuck, is there a difference? War is war.
War is war, was her final thought as she got ready to start a day full of tragedies.
Alexis should have listened to her gut.
‧͙⁺˚*·༓
a/n: taking a minute to say thank you to all of you!! i never thought Killer Instinct would receive so much love, but here we are, thank you lovers!!
taglist: @flyboidameron @wanderlustgiant @captain-pikas-world (wanna be tagged? lmk!)
#call of duty x oc#call of duty x reader#alex modern warfare#alex cod#echo 3-1#john price#captain price#kyle garrick#farah karim#hadir karim#kate laswell#oc: alexis#ysrwrites: kl#killer instinct#fanfiction#modern warfare
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